


We'll Stomp a Mudhole in your Heart

by CaptainMercy42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Bartender Cas, Bisexual Cas, Cas is a rock, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, Christmas Party, Closeted Bisexual Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Farmer Dean, Farmer John Winchester, First Christmas, Holidays, Impala, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John's alive, M/M, Mary's alive, Mary's not some perfect mom, Mechanic Dean, Pre-Slash, but it's not, but sam's a bit of a tool, co-dependent divorcees, divorced mary/john, emotional eating Dean, eventual destiel, farming au, food crutch Dean, john winchester cheated, sarah blake thinks sam / sarah is happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainMercy42/pseuds/CaptainMercy42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had been tentatively dreading the Christmas Eve celebration that somehow had come to include both of his parents and all their lovers and children simultaneously.  It was a night that his mom swore up and down was steeped in beautiful traditions, but all Dean could remember was arguments, an overabundance of food, an occasional fistfight, or outburst of tears, a weird insistence that they eat pasta with squid sauce, though none of his parents were Italian, and a rotating list of random guests that Mary was compelled to invite so that more people would compliment her cooking and her beautiful family.  She certainly didn’t hold any of her invitees in high regard, considering the the tense atmosphere she was dragging them into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Four Days 'Till Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> There's a trickle of people reading this fic, almost daily now. Thanks, whoever shared it! Or perhaps we're just getting into Christmas spirit?

“And did you hear about the pies?”  Mary Winchester stood in her sunny little kitchen, pointing a wooden spoon at her eldest son.  Her hair was pulled back at the bottom of her neck, and her eye makeup was beginning to smudge. Dean didn't know why she bothered with makeup this early in the day, and only with him around her house at the moment. 

“No, Ma.  What about the pies?”  He spoke into the counter as he rested his head on his hands in defeat, his beautiful face smooshed and muffled, hiding the way the past fifteen years or so had prematurely weathered him a bit.

“Well you know when Bobby butchered that pig we split it with your father, but of course he leaves me to render all the fat, which is fine.  It’s not as if I wouldn’t have done it anyway.” She turns to dig a spoonful of said lard out of an old coffee can and plunked it into an iron skillet. “But of course he comes over when I’m finishing up and asks me if I can put aside a can for  _ her _ because her cherry pie is just the cat’s meow.”

“I don’t buy it.”  Dean looked up with a bland expression.

“Oh no, I’m sure it’s pure organic.  She probably pits every cherry herself and only uses raw honey or agave or whatever that is.  You know, it probably costs $30 just to fill a pie plate!  I mean, I know we’re not poor anymore but I like to use what we have.  My pie is store brand sugar and flour and apples from the yard and lard and no one has ever complained.”

“There's nothing to complain about. You make the best pie, Ma.”  Dean conceded, wincing a little when his mom started talking over his compliment.

“So I go over there with the lard that I saved her because  _ he _ asked me to and I knock on the door and she opens it up and she’s having coffee with Jody.  I can see the squad car parked there plain as day.  Do you think she invites me in?  No!  She looks at me like I’m holding a bag of flaming dog poo and she literally laughs in my face when I  _ explain to her _ what lard is.  And you know what the kicker is??”

Dean drops his head back onto his hands and doesn’t answer.  His mother continues.

“God’s honest truth she looks me in the eye and tells me she’s never made a pie crust in her life.  She. Buys. Them.”  Mary looked over her reading glasses at Dean to make eye contact and confirm that he fully understood the gravity of the situation.  Dean sighed.

“Well dad wouldn’t know a decent pie if it bit him in the ass.  All he knows is that he’s getting some play.  She could be feeding him cat litter.  Everyone knows she’s a joke, Ma.  Anyway, you’ve got Bobby.  Maybe you want to dial back how much you talk about Dad in front of him?”  Dean’s hands were rested on the counter in an open, pleading position.

“Oh Bobby knows it’s just the principle of the thing.  All those years your father paraded around like a tyrant treating everyone like his servant, including Bobby.  And now he’s kowtowing to this brainless ditz?  Bobby knows she’s a joke, don’t you worry.”  Mary whipped around and stirred her pasta sauce with a surprising amount of restraint - but then, no matter what, her cooking always had to be perfect.  She wasn’t the type to splatter sauce everywhere no matter how full of rage she might have been.

“Who’s a joke?”  Sam had quietly opened the kitchen door sometime during the rant, and he ducked through with a curious expression and a head nod for Dean.

“It’s nothing.”  Dean dismissed.

“That  _ Kate. _ ”  Mary bit, simultaneously.  Dean groaned internally.

“Oh.  I actually ran into her just now.  She seems nice.  They’ve got the house all decked out.  I was really surprised. Dad’s really getting his act together. ”

Dean looked up at his towering beast of a brother and straight glowered.  Sam gave him a puzzled expression of innocence.  Dean looked to the ceiling in defeat and dropped his head back into his hands for a good rubbing.

“Oh I’m sure she’s  _ nice. _ ”  Mary growled at the backsplash as she adjusted the temperature of her sauteing vegetables.  “You’re a handsome man.  Why wouldn’t she be nice?”  She wheeled halfway around, but didn’t bother trying to look at Sam.  “Did she offer you some of her world famous pie?”

“Well I had already eaten.  Her pie is famous?  I’ll have to give it a try this weekend.”

“Hah.”  Mary choked out a guffaw.

“Pie is more of Dean’s thing.”  Sam continued.  “How are you, man?  Is Lis here?”  Sam glanced through the kitchen archway into the dark living room.

“Nah, she’s not coming.  We’re not-”  Dean just left that sentence to speak for itself and spun a slow circle on his stool.”

“Your brother is single this Christmas.  Which is too bad, because that means Ben won’t be here to play with  _ Adam. _ ”  

Dean stopped his slow twirl and stood up with a nervous energy.

“Jesus, Ma!  There’s like a 10 year age difference between them.  Adam can drink next year.  Ben is just an eight year old kid.”  Dean’s voice cracked as it was squeezed between the agony of disappointing his mother and the sheer rage at her callous obstinance regarding his dad’s new relationship - or his old relationship.  His renewed relationship?  

“Oh good.  Well then by all means, chalk the boy’s ID and you can take him out to the bars with you.  Just try not to get drunk and hit on his mother.  Or anyone else that your father might have knocked up while we were married.  I only have room for eight around the table.”

At that Dean slammed his fist on the counter and stalked out of the room.  Mary jumped a little, then scowled and went on cooking with a forced air of carefree whimsy.

“He’s still touchy about his breakup.  He’ll be fine.  Lisa was a very  _ nice _ girl, but it’s not as if we all couldn’t see it coming.”

“He sounds like he’s not the only one who’s touchy about a breakup.”  Sam folded himself into Dean’s abandoned spot at the counter and used his quiet, therapist voice.  “I know Dad screwed up first, but after you guys split you moved us in with Bobby pretty quickly.  Dad’s actually been alone for a long time.  I think it’s a good thing that he’s getting a chance to settle down again.”

Mary spun around and put on her best patronizing expression, a disingenuous smile that did nothing to disguise the fire in her eyes.

“Well you know what?  I don’t think he’s earned the right to settle down.  I worked hard to get where I am.  I worked on  _ his _ farm for our family day in and day out.  I spent so much time in the barn that you’d rather have Dean make you a peanut butter sandwich than your own mother!”

“The PB&J thing?  Again?”  Sam couldn’t contain a childish whine of exasperation.  Mary pressed on.

“And then after I finally divorce him, what does he do?  He still comes over and eats my food.  He still bosses me around and makes me keep the books for his damn failing business.  He still calls up Bobby at all hours of the day to ask for help, as if Bobby doesn’t have anything better to do than stand around and watch John Winchester bark orders and curse at things.”

A timer on the stove went off, and Mary whirled around and checked inside the oven, shaking her head to herself and reaching to reset the timer before turning back to Sam.

“And I did it all, because it was my fault I married the man.  We have two wonderful sons.  We have a family.  Bobby understands.  We all understand how your father is and we just live with him.  He’s never going to change.”

“So he’s not allowed to be happy?”  Sam played a mean Devil’s advocate.

“Why should he be?  Sam, that man is going to come over here tomorrow at six A.M. and he’s going to bitch up and down about the combine still not being fixed and then he’s going to demand that Bobby go on some fool’s errand with him at the drop of a hat, and he’s gonna bite my head off when I tell him that he doesn’t have enough cash in the bank for his dentist appointment on Wednesday because Roman’s haven’t paid us in six months.  Then he’ll ask if I have any toast.”

“Which you will already have served him, buttered and jammed just like he likes it.”  Sam reminded her of her doting ways with a raised eyebrow.

“Because things like that calm him down and everyone benefits when he’s calm. I'm not doing it for me!”  Mary sassed back.  “And then he’s going to go back up to the farm house, which I still technically own half of, and  _ she’s _ going to cook him a wonderful breakfast at 10 A.M. because she can’t be bothered to get out of bed before that.  Then she’s going to go  _ meditate _ on the hill for an hour.  You think he’s going to say a damn word?  No he’s just going to smile like an idiot.  Then at lunch time he’ll have some half-baked reason to come stomping down here because she’ll just be getting in the shower and all she leaves him for lunch is  _ tuna fish  _ again.  Do you think Bobby appreciates that?”

“You always make too much food, Ma.  You love feeding people. Bobby knows that.”

“But why should he just get to waltz all up and down the road deciding who has the best food?  He’s with  _ her _ now and he can eat with her, whether it be cat’s meow pie or tuna!  That’s his problem!  That is NOT my problem anymore!”

Sam sighed and his eyes glazed over as he gazed out the kitchen window, which, hilariously, had a clear view of the old Winchester farmhouse.  

“Well it doesn’t sound like you truly gave up all your wifely duties when you divorced him.”  Sam mused.  “Maybe you should take a break this Christmas and take a little time for yourself.  Jess and I can take care of a lot of the cooking.  I got her a spa package for Christmas.  We can call and get you booked and you two can go together, just the girls.”

Mary stopped kneading some sort of dough and skipped over to the sink to run her hands under some warm water.

“Oh please!  Can you picture  _ me _ at a spa?  I can’t lay around and spend all that money.  I like to do things.  Canning is my spa.”

“No, Ma.  Canning is a health hazard, if you’re still using Grandma’s old pressure cooker.  Plus.  Maybe if you calm down a little Bobby won’t catch on to all the issues you’re having with Dad’s new girlfriend.”

“Too late for that.”  A gruff, but amused voice entered through the hallway to the bathroom, followed by the owner, Bobby himself.  He was wearing his usual trucker hat and sardonic grin, and he clapped Sam on the shoulder in a standard mechanic’s form of affection.  “I’ve heard it all, and more, kid.”  He settled himself onto a stool next to Sam.  “And the spa sounds nice, but your mom will never go for it.  It just ain’t who she is.”

“Well.” Sam looked at his mother.  “I think people can change.” 

Bobby wrinkled his nose at the idea, then proceeded to peruse the newspaper.  Mary ignored them entirely, as she combined more delicious ingredients on the counter.  But Sam didn’t miss the way her eyes periodically darted to the window, always keeping tabs on what was happening at the farm house that she still technically owned half of.

Dean lay draped over the couch in the dark of the living room, stubbornly not thinking about anything he’d overheard, until receiving a text from his Dad demanding that he get up to the new barn to help figure out why the Gator wouldn’t turn over.


	2. Three Days 'Till Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look tired, Dean. Are you tired? I was just showing Jess this thing I do where she closes her eyes and I do a spirit read and find any emotion that’s stuck in there and then I pull it out.” She mimed the pulling out of the stuck emotion and it looked like she was casting a fishing line. “It was great! She’s so open and responsive. Should I try it on you?” Kate tottered over to the refrigerator for cream as nonchalantly as if she’d just asked Dean if he wanted a pastry instead of an invasive spiritual operation. Dean squinted at Jess, who quickly took a sip from her mug and batted her eyelashes at Dean in telepathic Morse code for “I’m just humoring her.”
> 
> “Uh. I’m gonna hold on to my emotions for now and… uh… work them out. But thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so, I clearly know this Kate Miligan IRL, in all her patchouli'd glory.

The next morning Dean awoke with a groan.  He was sleeping in the shitty little apartment above the farm’s garage now that he wasn’t seeing Lisa anymore.  The white walls were gray and dingy in the morning light, and everything smelled like oil.  The place was not technically his, but everyone thought of it that way seeing as he was the one who took the time to sheet rock it all and make it livable.  Letting him have that space was the least the farm could do for him, and worked in John’s favor when he had breakdowns at ungodly hours of the morning or evening.  John had expressed a nod of sympathy when Dean had told him it was over with Lisa, but Dean could tell that he was pleased that Dean would be sleeping back on the premises.  Whatever.  The man was always an opportunist.

Dean rolled over and looked out the window down towards the Singer house.   He wondered what his mom was making for breakfast.  It seemed pointless to choke down a bowl of Mini Wheats if there were fresh eggs and bacon down the hill just getting cold, then being thrown to the dogs.

As if reading his mind, his phone vibrated with a text from Bobby:

_ Get down here and eat some of this.  It’s getting out of control. _

Dean’s first reaction was a smile, followed by cloud of shame for Bobby’s sake.  Mom was stress cooking.  Why did she have to act like John’s love life made such a big difference to her?  She was supposed to be happy with Bobby.  Happy and  _ in love _ , not treating him like a boarder in his own home.  Dean honestly didn’t know how the man put up with it.

A knock on the door finally rousted him out of bed and into the same jeans he’d worn the day before.  He opened the door to see a smiling, winterized Sam.

“Nice hat.”  Dean greeted his brother.  The hat was home-knit, red with a red pom-pom and it actually fit on his giant melon.  Brown hair sprung forth from the bottom of the hat and framed his face angelically.

“Thanks.  Ellen knitted it.  We’ve been summoned.”

“Yeah I just got a text.  You didn’t have to walk up here to get me.”

“I was actually just finishing my morning walk.  The one benefit of not having snow yet.”  Sam breathed in a lungful of dank, balmy air.

“I’d say there’re way more than one benefit to not having snow yet.”  Dean argued as he slipped on his leather jacket.  Sam just wagged his head from side to side, and they left the apartment single file.

They walked down the long driveway towards the road when suddenly a green-hatted woman sprung out from behind a bush and screamed like a banshee.

“HI DEAN!”  She screeched with her arms outstretched, kicking one leg in the air in her impression of a windmill. Dean stumbled back a step.

“Jesus Christ.”  He muttered.  “Hi Jess.”  He curled his lip at her in mock annoyance as she held her stomach and laughed a bit too hard at her prank.  Sam just smiled his usual goofy smile.

“You almost ready for Christmas?”  She asked, hopping into step next to Dean with way too much pep.

“No.  And what the hell?  Did mom brew you crack instead of coffee?”  Dean side-eyed the bobbing Jess.

“No.  But I am pretty excited that I have four whole days off from wiping ass!”  She whooped and punched into the air.  Dean gave her a conciliatory dip of the head.  Jess was a nurse’s aid at some big city hospital while she went to school to be an LPN, and from what she had told him about the surgery floor she was assigned to, her job was often just staying up all night, taking vitals, helping people use the bathroom, and occasionally watching someone die.  In order to get such a long Christmas break she had surely given up any semblance of Thanksgiving.

Sam’s phone bringed in his pocket, and he pulled it out and swiped into it.  Dean looked over to catch him smiling.

“Is that Mom threatening to throw breakfast to the pigs?”  Dean asked.

“No.”  Sam swiped his phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket without another word.  Dean gave him a funny look, but Sam missed it. He looked to Jess, but she was biting into her thumbnail with a great determination.  Dean just shrugged and let it go, content to walk the rest of the way in silence, except for the honks of a few late migrating geese.

“Yoooo hoooo!”  A female voice echoed down the hill, coming from the direction of the Winchester farmhouse porch.  The three of them turned and waved up at the woman on the porch.  There stood Kate Miligan in an emerald green and gold kimono, her grey-blonde hair wrapped up in a pink towel on her head.

“Aw shit.”  Dean said under his breath as he waved, merrily.  Kate stayed waving, but silent, as if she were expecting them to backtrack up the hill to speak with her.

“Hi!”  Jess yelled, finally breaking the strange stalemate of waving, but not moving.

“Helloooo!”  Kate yelled back.  “Do you guys want some breakfast?  We had dinner at The Roadhouse last night and they sent us home with half a cheesecake!  You want some?”  She cupped one hand around her mouth for amplification, but the other hand was stuck holding her robe closed in the light breeze.  “I’ve got fresh coffee!”

“Nuh-uh.  Mom will flip right the fuck out.”  Dean muttered to Jess without moving his lips.

“Sorry!  We told Mary we’re going there for breakfast!”  Jess hollered back.  “But that cheesecake sounds amazing!  Maybe it can be brunch!?”  

“Nice.”  Sam muttered, approvingly.  Dean looked up trying to figure out how he would get out of brunch.  

“Okidoki!!  I’ll be here!  Bye guys!”  Kate yelled back with a final wave.  She tottered into the house, and Sam and Dean grimaced as they heard the familiar grate and smack of the screen door.”

“Uuhhhh…” Jess groaned as she turned and resumed trudging down the hill.

“Seriously.”  Dean griped.

“What?”  Sam questioned.  “I thought you liked Kate.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like her, I just wish that there wasn’t such a big drama fest surrounding her.  I swear to god, your mom sniffs me when I walk into her house.  You know how Kate burns that patchouli incense all day long?  If you go in your mom’s house smelling like it, she knows instantly.  Then she grills me about every little detail.  I feel like I’m in trouble if I go have a cup of tea with the lady.”

“Yeah.  Well that’s my family.”  Sam looked at the ground like a sad puppy dog.  Jess looked guilty and hopped over to rub Sam’s back, but she offered no verbal consolation.

Suddenly Dean’s pocket vibrated with a text that would effectively kill his appetite.

_ I just got off the phone with your mom.  Can you call me? - Lisa _

“Go on ahead, you guys.  I got something.”  Dean held up his phone, gulping.  

“Alright but you gotta get in there soon.  There’s food for ten and she expects me to finish it all.”  Sam gave Dean a pleading look, which was only half joking.  Dean nodded and waved Sam and Jess away, then wandered off the driveway to lean on an old maple tree that was still stubbornly holding onto its brown leaves.  

“Hey Lis.”  Dean started, immediately failing at allowing emotion into his voice.

“ _ Hi Dean!”   _ Lisa did not have the same problem.  “ _ Look, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I ran into your mom at the store yesterday, and I told her that Jill had her baby-” _

“Oh that’s great.  What’d she have?”  Dean interrupted.  “It’s still early, right?  Is it all good?”  Here was a topic where his voice cracking sympathy was appropriate.

“ _ Yes it was five weeks early.  She had a boy and he’s totally healthy.  But they’ve cancelled all their Christmas traveling, obviously.  And I can’t get enough time off work to drive up there until after Christmas.” _  She waited to see if Dean could piece together what was happening.  He waited, not particularly interested in playing a guessing game.

“ _ Well your mom realized that meant Ben and I would be alone on Christmas Eve, so she invited us to your family Christmas Eve party.  I told her I’d check with you, but she insisted that you’d be happy to see Ben for the holiday.”  _

“Well she’s right.”  Dean said without hesitation.  “I got some cool stuff for him.  It’ll actually work out.”  Dean coughed a little, surprised at his own words, but enticed by visions of laser tag with Ben and Sam while his mom, dad, Adam, Bobby and Kate all sniped at each other awkwardly.  “What’s two more people in the mix?  It’s Christmas, right?”

“ _ Okay…  I really appreciate it, Dean.  I mean, I know it will be weird between us, but I’m doing this for Ben.  You know that, right?” _

“Sure.”  Dean gestured at the air, trying to act the part of cool and hoping it would bleed into his voice.  “I got it.  Christmas is for the kids.  It’s all good.”

“ _ Alright.  Thanks so much, Dean.  Your mom said dinner was at six.  We’ll see you then.” _

“Yeah, take care.”  He glared at the phone as he hung up.  He’d been tentatively dreading the Christmas Eve celebration that somehow had come to include both of his parents and all their lovers and children simultaneously.  It was a night that his mom swore up and down was steeped in beautiful traditions, but all Dean could remember was arguments, an overabundance of food, an occasional fistfight, or outburst of tears, a weird insistence that they eat pasta with squid sauce, though none of his parents were Italian, and a rotating list of random guests that Mary was compelled to invite so that more people would compliment her cooking and her beautiful family.  She certainly didn’t hold any of her invitees in high regard, considering the the tense atmosphere she was dragging them into.  Bobby had been one of those extra Christmas guests for years.  Now his permanence had worn off his shine, and his mom had snagged Lisa.  Dean sighed.  He’d get through it with a good face for Ben.  

Breakfast at Mary’s was greasy and indulgent.  Every time Mary started spitting and sputtering about John Winchester or  _ that Kate _ , Dean reached for another sausage link.  Dean just about rolled through the door an hour later when he received a text from his dad telling him to meet him at the old barn to help him hook the snow plow to the red tractor.

“The snow plow?  Right this minute?”  Mary questioned with a truly stunned, and truly falsified expression.  “It’s fifty degrees!”

“Yeah, well, that’s what it says.  When dad says ‘jump’...”  Dean trailed off when he realized he was only pouring fuel on a fire.

“Ridiculous!  But  _ just _ like your father.  Do you think  _ she _ gets texts at all hours dictating where she should be?  I doubt it.  You know, she didn’t even come down and help him unload his wood because her  _ shoulder _ was hurting her again.  For someone who’s into all those crystals and voodoo healing, she’s certainly beat up.”  Mary seemed to subconsciously sense Dean’s discomfort at her ranting, because she stood by the door with a cinnamon roll at the ready.  Dean zipped his coat around what he felt was Santa’s torso, and accepted the cinnamon roll, silently hoping it might be the last ingredient needed to simply do him in.  He was so full he was numb.  It seemed like a feasible option.

“Well Kate’s a sixty year old lady.”  Dean heard Sam calmly argue.  “I’m sure she didn’t move here with manual labor in mind.  You’ve been doing this kind of work every day.  City people are a lot softer.”

Dean cringed and let the door smack shut behind him.  If Sam tried to reason with mom then mom would get bent out of shape and would start avoiding talking about Kate in front of Sam.  Which meant she would save it all up for Dean.  All because Sam couldn’t let the lady vent in peace.  Fabulous.

………………………………………………………………………….

“You ma says Lisa’s coming to Christmas Eve.”  John grunted at Dean after they had gotten the plow attached, and were standing in a light drizzle.  Of course, despite his new live-in and all the acid between them, John and Mary couldn’t help but share gossip first thing every morning.  Dean had wondered how they managed until he realized it was a thinly veiled competition to see who knew more about their children’s lives at any given moment.

“Yup.”  Dean eyed the tractor, now thoroughly misted and starting to drip, and wondered when the hell it was going to snow.

“Well it’s good.  You need to be with your family for the holidays.  That’s what’s important.”  John’s chest suddenly heaved like he was fighting some indigestion.  Dean clapped his dad on the shoulder, a move he was quite pleased to have mastered on his own, with no help from his parents, and minimal input from Bobby.  

“I’m going up to the house.  I’ve only had coffee.  Kate has some cheesecake she wanted you and Sam and Jess to come eat.  I should skip it.”  John was clearly struggling to communicate an invitation that wasn’t a direct order.

“Why should you skip it?”  Dean questioned, trying to find the deeper meaning in the vague set of statements.

“I’ve gained some weight since she moved in.  Had to take my pants to the Amish lady to be let out.”  John smiled proudly.  Dean cringed and prayed that under no circumstances would anyone mention that in front of his mother.  

“You’re gonna have to start working out with me in the garage.”  Dean suggested, knowing full well it was never going to happen.

“Yeah, maybe.”  John answered, with no intention of ever working out with Dean in the garage.  “I’ll see you at the house.  Text your brother.”  

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

_ Cheesecake at dad’s now. - D _

_ I’m about to explode from Mom’s breakfast.  We’re already up there. - S _

_ Shut the hell up.  All you ate for breakfast was fruit.  You’re such a pussy. - D _

_ Jerk. - S _

_ Bitch. - D _

Dean wiped some errant raindrops from his phone and smiled, until he realized he’d walked to the barn, and would have to walk through the rain to get to the farmhouse.

……………………………………………………………………..

Kate Miligan may have been a nice change for John Winchester, and the mother of one of Dean’s brothers, and even possibly a good person, deep down, but she was also batshit crazy.  The farmhouse had been transformed as soon as she arrived with a decorating scheme that's only rule seemed to be if it was her’s it was beautiful and if it was John’s (or Mary’s) it had to go.  Not that there was much of Mary’s things left in the house, but a lot of old furniture did end up there when her father had died.  John had welcomed it at the time, being too busy or proud to buy new furniture for his house as a bachelor, but now it seemed like every week a different piece was being hauled out onto the porch, then onto the lawn, then loaded onto a tractor and dragged up to the hill to be burned because John was above leaving his used items on the side of the road next to the dumpster to be gawked at by the regular folk. 

Kate described her taste as “eclectic”.  Dean was convinced that “eclectic” was just a nice word for “fugly.”  It seemed like she had gone through and purchased every single bright red, orange, or green ceramic iguana that had ever gone on clearance at a home goods store.  Then there were her Native American pieces, which fit in alright with his dad’s wolf theme.  But try throwing about six different Buddhas in the mix, and Dean was on longer on board.  He didn’t know a lot about Eastern religious philosophies, but he was pretty sure that the Buddha was into zen stuff, like, empty rooms with white paper walls and grass matts; not spending $59.99 plus tax on a faux weathered likeness of the Buddha and using a credit card to pay for it.

Decorating / philosophical judgments aside, Kate still ranked as crazy on other scales.  As far as Dean was concerned, anyone who would attempt to have a relationship with a guy who had previously been eating breakfast, lunch and dinner with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend, was messed up.  But then again, Kate was the mother of one of his kids.    Did she know John was married when she got pregnant with Adam? Was she so gung-ho about karma way back then?

Dean shook the hypotheticals off with the raindrops as he hung his coat in the farmhouse mudroom.  Jess and Sam were already sitting at the island with steaming mugs of fruity tea in front of them.  Dean breathed in the overwhelming stench of patchouli and wondered if it would creep into the mudroom and onto his jacket.  He didn’t want to have to get it washed.  He needed a dedicated farmhouse jacket now.  Balls.

“Dean!  So glad you could make it!  Do you want some tea or coffee?” 

“Coffee’s fine.”  Dean gave her a polite smile and took a stool next to Jess.

“You look tired, Dean.  Are you tired?  I was just showing Jess this thing I do where she closes her eyes and I do a spirit read and find any emotion that’s stuck in there and then I pull it out.”  She mimed the pulling out of the stuck emotion and it looked like she was casting a fishing line.  “It was great!  She’s so open and responsive. Should I try it on you?”  Kate tottered over to the refrigerator for cream as nonchalantly as if she’d just asked Dean if he wanted a pastry instead of an invasive spiritual operation.  Dean squinted at Jess, who quickly took a sip from her mug and batted her eyelashes at Dean in telepathic Morse code for “I’m just humoring her.”

“Uh.  I’m gonna hold on to my emotions for now and… uh… work them out.  But thanks.”  Sam snorted.  Jess gave Dean a look of sympathy.

“Oh, right.  I heard that Lisa was coming to Christmas Eve.”  Kate served Dean’s coffee with a bright expression.  “Which is great, because at first your father had said Christmas Eve was for family only, but now that it’s opening up I invited my medium, Missouri, to come and spend Christmas with us.  She has nowhere else to go, and I know you’ll all love her.  I didn’t want to rock the boat before with your mother, but I’ve always had lots of people drawn to me throughout my life.  I love having castaways Christmas!”

Mary Winchester and Kate Miligan now, officially, had something in common.  Dean forced a smile.

“Did I hear something about Roadhouse cheesecake that I’m supposed to eat before dad gets to it?”  Dean would find that stuck emotion all by himself, and smother it with Ellen’s delightful dairy confection.


	3. Two Days 'Till Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean suddenly craved pizza. Christmas Eve eve was a good night for pizza. Pizza was heavy enough to weigh his emotions back down. Pizza was like an emotional anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bros get a little like-whoa dramatic. Guilty pleasure, I suppose.

Something was up with Sam.  He was smiling at his phone.  He was smiling at his phone when Jess was right there, sitting next to him, not texting him.  Unless Sam had commissioned a portrait of Jess, and was getting constant updates from the artist, something was shady.  But Jess was off work until the day after Christmas, and Dean could never seem to find a time when the two weren’t together.  That had to be a good sign, right?

But Dean had a feeling.  Hell, he was plagued with them, at this point.  And the feeling he was getting from Sam and his phone smiles was no better than any of the other feelings he was trying to eat quiet.

Finally, Christmas Eve eve came, and it was Jess’s spa day.  Sam packed her off for six whole hours at the Singing Stones Spa and Resort, and was settled into Bobby’s couch with an old book when Dean confronted him.

“What’s up with the texts?”  Dean asked as he walked into the room.

“Hello to you too.  What texts?  I didn’t text you.”  Sam looked up with his most confused, innocent face.  For some reason Dean’s heart sank.

“You’re texting someone.  All day.  Every day.  Who is it?”  Dean crossed the room and leaned on a door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well I’ve been keeping up with some of my classmates.”

“Some of them or one of them?”  

“Dean, I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re acting like I’m texting your girlfriend.  But I can’t be because you don’t have one, so maybe you should calm down.”

Sam would have reigned victorious, if it hadn’t been for the tell-tale double vibration that his phone merrily drummed into the side table. 

“Alright, hotshot.  Give me your phone.”

Sam gave Dean a look of utter disgust.  He reached over and unlocked his phone, then handed it to Dean, defiantly.  This heartened Dean, until he opened the waiting text from “Sarah” to view a selfie of a woman’s leg, taken downwards at thigh level, clad in red fishnet stockings and featuring a sexy black pump on her foot.  The text read  _ my christmas stocking ;-p _ .  Dean rolled his eyes.

“Seriously?”

“What?  What’s it say Dean that’s soooo inappropriate?  I’m not allowed have a conversation with a girl if I don’t want to bang her?  Is that the code you live by?  Because things are a little different in the real world, where I live.”

Dean flipped the phone around and showed Sam the picture.  Sam’s face fell for a moment, then turned hard as he grabbed the device and exited from the photo to confirm that it had indeed been sent from “Sarah”.   When confirmed, his eyes went back to sad puppy face.

“Dude.  This is the first picture she’s ever sent me.  She probably sent it to the wrong Sam or something.  We just talk about our classes and ethics and stuff.  She knows I have a girlfriend.”

Dean grabbed the phone back, and Sam let him, slumping back onto the couch and rubbing his giant forehead in anguish before snapping out of it and perking up to work on convincing himself he was not a scumbag boyfriend.  Dean scrolled through the long history of Sam’s “Sarah” conversation.  His face was grim.

“Well I don’t know how she’d know you have a girlfriend.  This is like three weeks of texting and I haven’t seen Jess mentioned once.”

“She knows.”  Sam moaned.  “Just leave it, Dean.  I’m 100% sure that picture was a mistext.  She’s probably going to be super embarrassed.”

“Was. That. Text. Meant. For. Me. Question mark.”  Dean dictated as he typed a response to Sarah.  Sam aborted an angry grab towards the phone and ran his hand through his hair instead.

_ Duh.  You said you were having trouble figuring out what to ask Santa for ;-p  _

A moment later an additional message popped up.

_ I’m using way too much winky tongue face, but you get the idea.  … ;-p (couldn’t resist) _

“Well she just sounds charming.”  Dean quipped as he handed Sam the phone.  “And she’s got nice legs.  Feel free to give her my number.  Because, you know, I’m a single guy.”

“Dean this is not what it looks like.  She’s obviously just confused.  Maybe she’s drinking.”

“It’s 11:30.”

“She’s on the West Coast.”

“Where it’s 9:30.”  Dean paused for comic effect.  “How the hell did you get a chick that’s not even your girlfriend to put fishnets on at 9:30?”

Sam dropped his head into his hands and tried to relax his breathing.  Dean thought about Jess and became somber.

“Look.  I can’t tell you what to do.  And you probably don’t want advice from me.  But just don’t be dad, okay?  You see what it did to mom.”  

Dean suddenly craved pizza.  Christmas Eve eve was a good night for pizza.  Pizza was heavy enough to weigh his emotions back down.  Pizza was like an emotional anchor.

“What?”  Sam was affronted. “Dad had a baby with another woman and mom barely managed to dump him.  We’re talking about one bad text that I didn’t even send.  That and not jamming the fact that I have a girlfriend into every random conversation.  I’m  _ nothing _ like dad.”

“Newsflash, Sammy. We’re all like dad.  It’s fear.  We got a family held together by fear.  And guilt.  Everyone is afraid to be alone.  We’re’ all afraid someone better is gonna swoop in and take our place.  Dad banged Kate.  Mom moved in with Bobby.  And they can’t just leave each other well enough alone because they need to stick around and make each other pay for how shitty they made each other feel.  But they don’t have to say that - because they can act like they’re doing it all for us.  For the kids.  It’s so fucking important to shield the goddamn kids from all that bad shit that’s out there in the world.”  Dean was taking on a kind of sarcastic swagger, and his need for a pizza anchor was reaching emergency levels.

“But in reality, the world needs to be shielded from the fucking Winchesters.”  Dean ended his tirade and dropped his hands to his side, looking away from Sam with glassy eyes.

“I hope Jess realizes that she can do better than Sam Winchester, who can pack her away to the spa like some hero and then bullshit about Nietzsche and Ramen for two hours with some other hot chick.”

“That’s ENOUGH!”  Sam yelled, throwing his book onto the couch in the most controlled, and therefore sissified fit of rage Dean ever witnessed.  “I get it now.”  Sam was breathing heavily.  “You’re some kind of closet romantic and you can’t handle knowing that I can have a good relationship and be friends with other people.  Because I can!  Jess and I don’t have to stare into each other’s eyes all day to be in love.  This isn’t a Disney movie.  Jess has friends that she talks to and I don’t interrogate her about them.  Because I trust her and I respect her and I’m not indoctrinated by mom to believe that every relationship I form is going to end in miserable failure because I didn’t cook or clean hard enough!  You’re living with more fear than any of them!  Because none of the shit that they went through has happened to you, but you’re 100% convinced that it’s going to.  And it will, because you’re fucking hunting it down.  It’s not enough that Lisa left you.  Now you’re just dumping your crap jealousy on me.  You need to get it together, Dean.  Go get therapy for this shit, or something.”  Sam ended with a mumble, picked up his book and wandered off towards the guest bedroom.

Dean stomped out of the house, got in his car, and drove the seven miles into town to get pizza.  So much pizza.

………………………………………………………………………….

Safely seated in a booth at Sal’s, dean drowned his sorrows in pepperoni.  Eating, alone in a public space was making him feel like he could breath again.  He started to choke, but it was just a tickle in his throat which turned into a fit of dry coughs.

“Whoa there, cowboy.  Chew much?”  A voice popped up next to him as a hand started slapping him on the back.

“Hey, Charlie.”  Dean smiled up at his red-headed friend, who was sporting a geeky tee, plaid over shirt and some artful bedhead.  “You just wake up or something?”

“Yeah I’m on a breakfast run.”  She held up a medium pizza box. “I’ve sort of got a new beau.”  She smiled a dreamy smile.  

“Nice.  Is she hot?”  Dean joked.

“Obviously.”  Charlie breathed on the fingernails of her free hand and mimed polishing them on her shirt.  “Hey, speaking of which- I ran into your mom at the grocery store yesterday and she totally invited me to Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow.  I told her about the new girl and she said I could bring her.  That’s new.”  She arched her eyebrows at Dean, and Dean blushed at the implication that his family had not previously been so welcoming to the idea of Charlie bringing a girl around.   “You think they’re ready to see me in action?”  She grinned, wickedly.

“Fuckin’ mom.”  Dean mumbled.  “Hell yeah, they’re ready.”  Dean’s head did some math.  Lisa and Ben.  Kate and Adam.  Charlie and her female date.  Missouri the medium.  His Christmas Eve had morphed from a small family gathering into full ensemble reenactment of a modern National Lampoon’s Christmas spectacular. “As long as you’re ready to witness the Winchester crazy, straight from the source.”

“Oh yeah right.”  Charlie punched his arm lightly.  “You’re the only crazy Winchester I know.  I think the rest of your family is lovely.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Dean lied.  “So you’ll be there?  I think it starts at six.”

“We’ll be there with bells on.”  she smiled and gave Dean the live-long-and-prosper wave, then trudged off to the staircase that led to her apartment above the pizza parlor.

Dean smiled, slightly heartened that the Winchester pandemonium was gradually getting watered down by outsiders.  His family needed an audience.  They behaved best when they had people to impress with their absolute devotion to family tradition.  He snorted a laugh, not caring that he looked like a crazy, lonely, laughing, pizza eating man.

Just then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_ Call me ASAP - Lisa _

Great.  He took another bite and pressed ‘send’, rushing to swallow before Lisa picked up.


	4. One Day 'Till Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look. Are you in any shape to drive? Because I know about all that bullshit where no one should be alone on Christmas, but if you stay on this porch long enough to meet my mother, you will be forced to spend the worst Christmas of your entire life with the royally fucked up family of the guy that you’re not even dating. So what’s it gonna be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter / Christmas Eve of all time. OF ALL TIME.  
> At least there's Cas at the end.  
> High fives all around for Christmas drones.

The phone call with Lisa had sent Dean into a tailspin that ended with him buying one and a half dozen cupcakes from the Roadhouse bakery counter.  Ellen’s daughter, Jo, looked on with sympathy, and tried to get some details out of him, but all she got was his usual devilish grin and saucy wink.  Dean was apparently better with an audience as well.

He woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve with crumbs in his bed and frosting on his cheek.  Luckily he still had a full dozen cupcakes to bring to dinner. He groaned, and rolled over to look at the little pile of wrapped gifts that he had arranged very festively in the corner of his bedroom.  He was 28 years old.  They were exchanging gifts that evening.  There would be no Christmas morning for Dean.  Ben was his only connection to the magic of Christmas, and thanks to one phone call from Lisa, he was about to lose that too.  He sighed, and rolled out of bed, into yesterday’s jeans, and out to warm up his baby.  The air was a balmy 52 degrees.  This fucking Christmas, couldn’t even get the weather right.

In a way he was relieved.  He’d avoided Sam and Jess since yesterday, and hadn’t heard anything about it, other than a cryptic text from Bobby saying he saw Dean cheating on his mom’s lasagna at Sal’s but he wouldn’t tell anyone.  Goddamnit.  It wasn’t cheating.

Dean drove the seven miles into town and pulled up at the bus station.  He beat the bus into the lot by twenty feet or so, and waited with the engine running as he watched people file out and form a line to wait for their suitcases.  He spotted his target towards the end of the line.  He was one of those guys who wore a black kangol hat.  And traveled by bus.  Fantastic.

The burly man in the kangol hat glanced around the parking lot, then headed towards the Impala, as he had been instructed.  Dean took a deep breath and exited the car to meet him, and situate his bag.

“Ben Lafitte?”  Dean asked, holding out his hand for a manly shake.

“Benny to my friends.  Dean, I presume?  The car lives up to the hype, I must say.”  The man chuckled, and Dean shook his head, relieved but also a little disappointed that he couldn’t bring himself to immediately hate him.

“What’s so funny?”  Benny asked with the hint of a smirk under his reddish beard. 

“She named him Ben.  You’re Benny.”  Dean laughed through his nose.  “It’s pretty crazy.”

“That it is, brotha.  That it is.”

Dean took Benny’s carry-on and stowed it in the trunk, then they both took their seats and Dean drove them the seven miles up to the Winchester farm, resorting to mostly idle chit-chat about the freakishly warm weather and pointing out a few landmarks.  The homestead looked quiet when they pulled up to Dean’s garage and he wondered, not for the first time, what he was going to do to keep Lisa’s big Christmas surprise entertained.  He cut the engine and stared at the side of the barn.

“I just want say, before things get too crazy, that I really appreciate this.”  Benny gave Dean a very earnest look, and Dean took note of the light blue of his eyes.  Ben had gotten Lisa’s brown eyes, but Dean could see some resemblance in the nose and brow. 

“Well you’ve been vetted.”  Dean accepted the gratitude, humbly.  “At least, that’s what she tells me.”

“I’ll say.”  Benny chuckled.  “I have a stack of letters this high informing me that every account I’ve ever had has recently been hacked.  Your friends don’t mess around.”  Benny held his hand up to his forehead.

“Yeah, that’s my fault.  I introduced Lisa to Charlie.  She’s a good friend, and a better cyber criminal.”

“Well it all works out.  Wouldn’t want Lisa to surprise Ben with a lout on Christmas.  That’s why I really appreciate your family.  It’ll be good to have…”  Benny searched for the words, squinting at an innocent brown cow.

“A buffer?”  Dean offered.  “Don’t worry about it.  But fair warning, Lisa’s recently my ex, then we got my mom the bitter ex wife, my dad’s former best friend- her new boyfriend, my dad the cheater, the mistress/ mother of my half-brother, the hacker and her mystery girlfriend, and a psychic.  You’re small potatoes.”

Benny’s laugh was relieved and infectious, so Dean joined in.  Benny got serious once more as they calmed down.

“I hope I’m not salt in the wound with Lisa.  We’ve been talking a while, but only about the kid, running the test, and the like.  Nothing untoward.”  Benny gazed at Dean with a soulful seriousness that Dean had previously only encountered in Lisa.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  His own brother had tried to convince him he had unreasonable expectations for a relationship, but here was another grown man trying to assure him things were on the up and up, even after the fact.  There was just no way Dean would ever hate him.

“Shit, man.  Breaking up with Lisa was one of the most responsible things I ever did.  We saw it coming and we headed it off at the pass.  No yelling or carrying on.  Because she’s a good lady and Ben’s a good kid. Now I get to give him a real dad for Christmas.  It all works itself out.”  Dean’s eyes sharpened as he noticed his dad stomping towards the Impala.  “Then again, real dads aren’t always all they’re cracked up to be.”  Benny gave him a quizzical squint.  Dean just shrugged, then pulled open his door and stepped out of the car, where John met him.

“So this is Ben’s dad, huh?  You believe it?”  John bent over and peered through Dean’s door, as if Benny couldn’t hear him.

“How do you even know about any of this?”  Dean radiated his annoyance as he watched John Winchester size up the man in the passenger seat and inevitably compare him to Dean.

“Lisa called your mom  yesterday.”  

“That doesn’t explain how you know.”  Dean muttered.  John stood up and smirked.

“Your mom wanted to be sure Kate knew how many people were coming so that she’d make enough pie.”  John admitted, dryly.

“Jesus Christ.”  Dean wiped his hand down his face.

“Well, go set your friend up in front of your Playstation or whatever.  I need you to look at the lights on the 4020.”  John started to walk away, Benny giving his back a quizzical look as he mouthed the word “Playstation?”.  Dean took a deep breath.

“You know what, dad?  It’s Christmas Eve.  I’m taking the day off.” 

John whipped around with a look of fury.

“The holiday is tomorrow.  And the land doesn’t take a day off.”

“The land should be under two feet of snow.  It can wait.”  Dean raised his voice to reach his father.  John simply turned on his heel and stalked away.  “There’s a preview of tonight, for you.”  Dean faked a smile at Benny.  “Now, let’s go see what Ma is cooking, and hear about what an asshole my dad is.”  Benny nodded and exited the vehicle.

“After you, brotha.”

Dean was most definitely not Benny’s brother, but at that moment he enjoyed pretending, spending a day vicariously watching the Winchesters through a stranger’s eyes and clinging to the comfort that he could leave it all behind after just one night. 

………………………………………………………………………...

By five thirty Dean and Benny had been fed a late breakfast, a full lunch, and a whole pie between them.  Mary Winchester insisted they eat the pie before she had to hide it so it wouldn’t outshine  _ her _ pie.  Then she stood in front of a table full of various puddings, cookies and cakes and complained that after finding out about all the additional guests, Kate was still only planning on making one pie.  Dean and Benny were only granted reprieve when Mary ran up to the farmhouse to check the turkey (her own oven was entirely devoted to the ham).  

Dean breathed a deep breath as the door shut behind his mother.  Benny held his stomach, but looked concerned.  

“She gonna hold it together up there?”  His Louisiana drawl was laced with concern.

“She has so far.”  Dean shrugged.  “She lets it out on us so that she can hold it together later.”  He rationalized.  They both started as there was a knock on the door.  Benny was closer, but it was Dean’s mother’s house, so he slid his overstuffed body off the stool and pulled the door open.  On the other side was a pretty brown haired girl wearing the typical Old Navy headband and fleece mittens, and holding a storebought pie.

“Hi!  I’m Sarah!”  She started, with a big smile.

“The fuck you are.”  Dean muttered, before he could think to censor himself.  Dean and Benny both looked on as Sarah’s peppy smile melted off her face.  “Is this some kind of joke?”  Dean continued, shoving the screen door open and causing Sarah to jump back.  Dean stalked outside, where it was already pitch dark, save for the floodlight on the porch.  It was at that moment that Sam and Jess came giggling onto the porch with a Christmas tree suspended between their shoulders, at a ridiculous angle.  That allowed Sam to see Dean long before he spotted Sarah and her pastry.

“Hey, who’s car is that?”  Sam asked, gaily.  “I thought you had to pick up that Ben guy at the bus station.”  

“Uh, Sam?”  Sara’s voice pierced through the dark with its newness.  Benny stepped closer to the screen door to spy on the scene.  Dean swallowed a little bile as he watched Jess slowly let go of her side of the Christmas tree, then stepped next to Dean, turning to watch Sam and Sarah at the same time.

“Uh, hi Sarah.  What are you…?  Uh.”  He leaned the tree on the side of the house and tried to regroup.  “Sarah, this is my girlfriend, Jess.  Jess, this is my friend from Ethics 102, Sarah.”

“Oh, I know who this is.”  Jess answered with a very tight lipped smile.

“Your  _ girlfriend? _ ”  Sarah whined.  Dean started rubbing his eye, trying to get a head start on digging his way into the migraine on the horizon.

“Yeah.  I definitely told you about her.”  Sam tried to hide the pleading in his voice, but Sarah was too crushed by the realization that she had ditched her family’s entire California Christmas celebration to surprise her crush  _ and his girlfriend.  _

“You mentioned her when we met, yeah.  But then you were texting me and sending me winky faces and taking me on all those coffee dates.  I thought it didn’t work out with her.”  Jess turned her head to stare Sam down.

“Those were study sessions.”  Sam hissed.  “I didn’t even pay for your coffee.”

“Well I don’t know about you, but I want to hear more about these winky faces.”  Jess’s voice had a heartless twinge, and Dean began to feel bad for nearly biting Sarah’s head off when she knocked.  

“Everyone uses emoticons.  It’s not even a wink.  I use that face because you always make fun of me for squinting at the chalkboard.”  Sam’s defense was feeble.  Dean could tell that his brother was about to cave in on himself.  Then something suddenly energized him.

“Wait, how did you know who she is?”  He asked Jess.  It was a weak stab at finding out if Jess had been spying on his messages, and Dean was not impressed.

“Dean told me.  Because Dean actually cares about my feelings.  Or at least, he can’t stand a guilty conscience.” Jess glared at Dean, but he shrugged it away.  The messengers never survived these scenarios. 

“So what did he tell you?”  Sam glared at Dean, accusingly.

“Back off, Sam.  He told me you were fooling yourself into thinking you had a platonic texting relationship with some girl in your class, but that she just started sexting you.”

“It was a picture of her leg!”  Sam groaned.

“You showed that picture to your brother?”  Sarah asked, her face reddening.  

_ Well shit,  _ thought Dean,  _ this poor girl is pure as the driven snow and we’re fucking her over the Winchester way.  Fantastic. _

“Oh so you know who Dean is, huh?  Interesting.”  Jess gave Sarah a piercing look.  Sarah gave up and started crying.

“I don’t know what you’re crying about.”  Jess muttered.  “I’m the one who just spent my Christmas vacation with my boyfriend’s crazy-ass family.  I’ve been pulled here and dragged there and eaten this and listened to endless bitching for what?”  She addressed the question to Sam.  “To have it thrown in my face that I’m a clueless idiot?”

Sarah continued to let tears run out of her eyes, but no one else was ready to talk.  That was when Dean spotted his mom lugging the turkey down the path from the farmhouse, and he took charge.

“Jess, feel free to go cool off in the apartment above the garage.” He pointed towards his room and Jess complied after a huffy last glare. “Sam, go help mom with that turkey, and then finish your shit with the tree.  And you.”  He turned to Sarah.  “First thing first.  We gotta get rid of this pie.”  He grabbed the greasy confection from her trembling hands and walked it over to a trash can around the side of the house.  The very last thing his mom needed tonight was a shitty grocery store pie with a four inch long ingredient list.  Dean returned to stand in front of Sarah, and put his hands gently on her shoulders.

“Look.  Are you in any shape to drive?  Because I know about all that bullshit where no one should be alone on Christmas, but if you stay on this porch long enough to meet my mother, you will be forced to spend the worst Christmas of your entire life with the royally fucked up family of the guy that you’re not even dating.  So what’s it gonna be?”  Sarah gulped.

“I feel like such a- a homewrecker!  Sam never sent me anything even remotely suggestive, other than those damn winky faces.  He is just so- nice.”  She laugh-cried and wiped her eyes on the back of her hands.  “I can’t believe I just did this to… his girlfriend.  On Christmas.”  Dean watched as she verged on another tearful outburst.

“Hey, hey.”  He soothed. “You’re a super nice girl, and you made a mistake.  Jess will cool down, Sam will go show her his phone, and if you’re right then everything will be fine.  But you’ve got to escape while you still can.”  He pleaded with a dead serious expression.   Sarah took a grounding breath.

“Yes.  Yes I’m going to go.  It was nice to meet you, Dean.”  Dean coughed a laugh at the inappropriate pleasantry.  “Tell Sam and Jess that if I need to contact him I’ll send him an email.  I can CC her.  No, that’s weird.  I don’t even know if we’re in any classes together next semester.  Nevermind.  Just tell them I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Tell me where you’re going to go.”  Dean wanted to make sure he wasn't about to send such a naive girl to the nearest bar of a strange town, in a rental car. 

“Um.  My aunt lives in Albany.  That’s where I told my family I was going. I'll actually go there.”

“Albany.  Good.  And you’re sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Yes.”  Sarah breathed in deeply and straightened her back.  “Your mom is coming.  I gotta go.”  She scampered around Dean and back into her car just as Sam came fumbling onto the porch with his mother’s 25 pound turkey.  Mary followed behind him with a pitcher of drippings.  She watched Sara’s car as it backed onto the main road.

“Who was that?”  She looked to Dean for an explanation, and didn’t notice Sam ducking guiltily into the house.

“Jehovahs.”  Dean lied.  “No respect for the holidays.  I sent ‘em packing.”  Dean kept a straight face as he heard a just barely audible snort of amusement escape Benny, who was still spying through the screen door.

“Good.  That’s the last thing we need.”  Mary followed Sam inside, and began barking suggestions that Sam, Benny and Dean dutifully accommodated. Dean shared a few looks with Benny that seemed to communicate both amusement and sympathy, but they didn't get a chance to talk before the dinner guests started rolling in. 

John, Kate and Adam entered first, John and Adam empty handed, and Kate toting one lone cherry pie.  Kate asked where she could put the pie and Mary pointed her to the overflowing dessert table, then rolled her eyes as soon as Kate’s back was to her.  Dean cringed.  The lack of subtlety could only mean that his mom had started drinking, which meant he had to catch his father and Kate up quickly, or else they'd definitely pick up on Mary’s bad attitude. 

“Where’s Jess?  John asked, always a fan of blondes.

“Sam fed her something that made her sick.”  Dean improvised.

“She’s having some sort of reaction from the spa.”  Sam rushed to explain, simultaneously.

John looked from Dean to Sam, then laughed heartily.

“Christ.”  He chuckled.  “Well it’s not a real relationship until you’ve ruined a Christmas.  If you survive this, congratulations.”  John toasted Sam with a glass of whiskey-soaked eggnog, and continued to smile at Sam’s bashful silence.  

Mary scowled and pulled Sam into the laundry room to demand an explanation.  Dean let his shoulders slump. The fire in his mother’s eye had more to do with being caught unaware than any concern for Jess.

Adam lurked behind his parents with a sallow frown, and Dean felt for the guy.  Logic would suggest that most everyone there hated Adam and/or his mother, for one very valid reason, or another.  But logic didn’t dictate much between their two households.  Dean wasn’t quite sure how to tell Adam, but at this point it was more likely that his mother was angry with Kate for  _ buying _ organic red cabbage instead of using one of the ones stored in the farm root cellar, than she was for Kate bringing an entirely new human into the world thanks to DNA from her ex-husband.

“Hey, Adam.”  Dean had a flash a brilliance.  “This is Benny.  He’s gonna meet his son Ben for the first time tonight, and he bought him one of those camera drone thingies.  You think you can go to the living room and help him open it up and get it charged up for later?”

“Yeah.”  Adam jumped at the chance to exit, but still managed to sound pouty.  He slunk out of the room like any good dissatisfied teen, and Dean turned back just in time to see Kate give him a sunny smile and mouth the words “thank you.”  Dean gave her a nod, then jogged through the house to answer the front door, saved by the bell.

“Dean!”  Charlie opened her arms wide and grabbed him in a big, cheery hug, which was only dampened by the fact that when he opened his eyes he found himself staring at his ex-girlfriend.  Her expression was equally less than pleased.

“Dean, this is my girlfriend-”  Charlie presented the tall, African-American woman with a flourish, but Dean cut her off.

“Cassie?”  Dean supplied, tonelessly.

“Oh great.” Charlie dropped her hands immediately.  “If I wanted to block myself from ever sleeping with a girl who’d slept with Dean Winchester I’d have to have a strict lesbian only policy.”  Charlie spoke quickly, almost talking to herself.  “And that’s no bueno.  But he remembers this one’s name which means - I don’t even know what it means.  It’s unprecedented.”  Charlie looked up at Dean with open, questioning eyes.  Cassie bristled behind her, her annoyance radiating off her like an overheating string of red Christmas lights.

“We dated, Charlie.  A long time ago.  Like, ten years ago.”  She rubbed her hand soothingly on Charlie’s lower back.  “I thought I recognized this road, remember?  But I’ve never been here.  I’d only ever met his father.”  Cassie glared up the hill towards the Winchester farmhouse.  Dean cringed a little, wondering how to break the news that the very same man was going to be present for the evening’s festivities, despite the fact that his parents were divorced, and his mother had moved in with his father’s best friend.

“Well he’s here.”  Dean pointed to the house behind him.  “And you’re finally going to get to meet my mom.  So come on in.”  He gave Charlie a forced smile, then turned to lead them inside.

“Oh, they reconciled?”  Cassie asked with a bewildered tone.

“Nope.”  Dean popped the “p” in “nope”.  Charlie giggled, and Cassie looked perturbed, which conveniently was Dean’s least favorite Cassie look.  

“Mom, Kate,” Dean turned to the first people he saw as he entered the living room.  “This is Charlie and her girlfriend Cassie.”  There was a knock on the kitchen door and he started in that direction before he paused.  “Dad’s probably going to recognize that Cassie is an ex-girlfriend of mine, so I’m just throwing that out there now.” 

Mary Winchester had been putting on her most welcoming smile, which was layering nicely over the forced levity she was using to speak to Kate, and the boxed Pinot Grigio.  But when Dean revealed his history with Cassie, and the fact that his father had met a girlfriend that she hadn’t even been privy to, a fire was set behind her eyes that no amount of fake smiles could smother.  Dean took long strides out of the living room and through the kitchen to answer the back door.  He ushered Lisa and Ben in with a smile borrowed from his mother.

“Merry Christmas!” Ben yelled as his mother helped him out of his puffy coat.  Mary breezed in to inspect the commotion, and immediately bent down and held open her arms, inviting Ben in for a big hug, which he accepted and returned with fervor.  Dean smiled, then turned back to Lisa with his business face.

“He’s in the living room by the tree.  There’s a kid with him trying to get the drone battery charged. That's my half brother.”  Dean didn’t whisper, but he spoke in stealth mode.

“Thanks.  Merry Christmas.”  Lisa leaned forward to give him a quick hug, and he was careful not to smell her.  The Braeden scent had only just worn off the last of his belongings, and he wasn’t looking for a reminder.

John wandered into the kitchen, and his eyes lit up as he spotted Lisa.

“Lisa! giving Dean a run for his money on how many exes he can get at one party, eh?”  Lisa turned to Dean with a questioning tilt of her head. Dean waved her away. She had more to worry about than the fact that Dean actually had managed to have one other official girlfriend amidst his lifetime of one night stands. 

“Excuse me?  Hello there?”  A new voice came through the kitchen door, and Dean was temporarily startled out of his mortification.  “I’m Missouri Mosely.  I’m a friend of Kate’s.”  She stood outside the door.  

Dean glanced back towards his mother, but she was still gushing about Christmas with Ben.  Lisa had sidestepped them to sneak into the living room and for all intents and purposes, re-meet Benny.  John hovered around a dish of cheese squares as if he were starving, which he could have been based on all of Kate’s lectures on diets and health.   Dean opened the door for Miss Mosely.

“Come on in.”  Dean greeted Missouri, trying to take note of her features in the dark of the porch.  She was short and rotund, with wavy black hair and skin a shade darker than Cassie’s.

“Why thank you.  She stepped into the kitchen with a smile, which quickly faded as her eyes adjusted and she took a good look at Dean.

“You’re Dean.  Oh mercy.  You’re in for quite a night, aren’t you?”  She asked Dean with a concerned expression.

“Hey, we’re all in this together.”  Dean quipped.  He could hear Kate squealing Missouri’s name from the living room, so he decided to high-tail it out of there.  He pivoted quickly, and smashed his face into Sam’s neck as he attempted to exit.

“Gack!”  Sam wheezed.  “Slow it down, Dean.”

“Think fast.”  Dean breathed back at Sam, before ducking around Sam, narrowly dodging Kate, then finally escaping to the living room couch.

Missouri reached out a manicured hand and touched Sam on the arm as he reached for a glass of hot apple cider. 

“And I feel that you’re involved with Dean in some way.  Are you one of the ex lovers that has him so frazzled?”

Sam snorted, quickly bringing his free hand to his mouth to shield Missouri from the full power of his downright evil smirk.

“Oh what am I saying?”  She furrowed her brow and tapped Sam’s hand in the soft gesture of a reprimand.  “You’re the brother.”  She almost muttered to herself.  “And you don’t even know about the other men yet.”

“Can’t say that I do.”  Sam answered, bluntly.  “But I’m getting this cider for someone else, so…. nice to meet you.”  He toasted her with his glass, then backed away.

“Nice to meet you, Sam.”  She gave him a little wave, then turned to embrace Kate as her friend finally made it through the maze of other guests.

Sam ran his cider over to Charlie with an excitement that had previously been dampened down by having to repeatedly make up stories about his girlfriend’s absence from the party.  He reached over and tapped Dean, who was standing next to Cassie, but clearly trying to spy on the interaction between Benny, Ben and Adam as they examined the drone instructions, intently.

“Dude, that psychic thinks you’re gay.  She asked if I were one of your ex-lovers.”   Sam giggled at the memory of being asked if he were Dean’s ex boyfriend.  Dean turned his full attention on Sam, and time slowed down as his brain went on a brief tirade.

_ Son of a bitch fucking shit fuck fucking fuck for all of her fucking idiocy Kate actually fucking knows a real fucking medium.  Fucking amazing. _

His eyes darted to meet Cassie’s, but if she remembered anything about his drunken half-confession all those years ago, she made no indication.  He let himself take a breath.

“‘S’weird.”  Dean answered, shrugging his shoulders.   “Maybe she was trying to gauge your reaction.  Like a cold reader thing.” 

“Plus, everyone’s a little gay.” Charlie added, as if that explained it all.  She toasted Dean with a beverage that he was suddenly positive was too potent for her. 

“Are we talking past lives?” Kate had sent Missouri off to the restroom, so she eagerly filled the gap in their little cluster. “Because I had my regression done right before I moved up here, and we discovered that John and I have actually been married in five previous lifetimes.”  She took a deep breath through her nose and tried not to look lovestruck… or maybe smug.  “I believe that’s why I have such a strong connection to Jess.  I felt a connection with her as soon as I met her, and I believe that she was John and my’s daughter in one of our previous relationships.  It’s so fascinating how we find each other again and again.”

Charlie and Cassie stared at Kate in a way that made it perfectly clear that they had never had the misfortune of running into the likes of her in any of their previous incarnations.  Sam openly moped at the mention of Jess.  Dean took a breath and tipped his head forward, nudging his way headfirst into another party-saving act.

“Well you sniffed me out.”  He smiled and put his hands up in surrender.  “I really think this past life stuff is...fascinating.”  Dean attempted sincerity and Kate gave him a beaming smile, not noticing the questioning looks from Charlie and Sam.  “I mean, it explains a lot about our family’s… separation anxiety?”   Sam cocked his head in acknowledgement.  “Because, I mean, obviously we’re being compelled to stick around and make each other miserable by something bigger than the last thirty or so fucking years.” Charlie raised her chin and stared down her nose at Dean, trying to figure out if Dean’s jabs were more of an open mocking or actually smooth and subtle to match his voice. 

“Geez, Dean.  It’s Christmas.” Sam argued, woefully.

“Didja know Adam in any of your past lives?”  Dean held eye contact with Kate, refusing to acknowledge Sam’s utterly spineless comment.  It wasn’t like Kate hadn’t willingly moved right in to the shit show that was the Winchester/Singer farmstead.

“Oh yes!” Kate trilled as the focus was directed back to her.  “He was once my father.”  She gave her son a loving glance.  “It explains so much.  He is an old soul.”  Adam’s eyes flicked up from the very detailed drone instruction manual, but he didn’t raise his head, or bother to put down the charging cord he was holding in front of himself as if it were a mystifying, but pivotal ingredient that needed to be examined further.  

Sam was suddenly jostled from behind as Missouri backed away from a thorough inspection of the dessert table, and bumped him in the thigh with her backside.

“Dearie me.  Isn’t that the way these days?”  She smiled pleasantly at Sam.  “You order a medium and you get a large.  I apologize sweetie.”  Sam waved it off and toasted his still in-tact beverage, which was enough to give Missouri the gap she needed to sidle into their group.  “Now, whom should I inform of the Iroquois burial site that y’all accidentally built an outhouse over?”

Bobby cleared his throat behind Dean, and Dean quickly exchanged places with the man.  Bobby and Missouri could duke it out about the history of his land for a while.  Dean wanted to spend some time with Ben before the big reveal.  Ben seemed to feel the same way, because he had kept giving Dean sharp glances (for a kid) and finally broke away from his mother when Dean extricated himself from the woowoos. 

“Hey.”  Ben said, standing with his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his oversized hoodie.  “Can I see your room?”  He peeked past Dean into the dark hallway with interest.

“Nah, it’s Sam and Jess’s room right now.  I sleep over the garage so I can be close to my baby.”  He smiled, waiting for Ben to give him a hard time.

“You seriously love that car too much.”  Ben said, taking the bait.

“Impossible.”  Dean grinned.  “Not as much as you love that drone, right?  You psyched?”

“Yeah it’s cool.”  Ben said, simply.  Dean didn’t envy Lisa and Benny’s next ten years of gift giving.  “I don’t know why that guy got it for me.  I thought we came to Christmas to see you.”  He peered up at Dean, clearly trying to hide his earnest concern.  “I thought mom kind of missed you or something.  That would be cool, right?  You could come back over and we could finish Tekken Tag.”

Dean felt his heart break a little, for himself, for Ben, and for Benny who was looking on intently from the other side of the room.  And then there was Lisa, who was usually so responsible.  Tonight, however, she seemed to be letting the stress, and Mary Winchester, get to her with the whiskey nog.  Her eyes were glazed and her smile was a permanent, pained feature.  She was very ingenuously laughing about something with Dean’s mother when she glanced up to find Dean cornered by Ben. 

“Ben!”  She shouted, though Mary seemed to be mid sentence.  “Ben I need to come over here.  I’ve got an announcement to make.”  She took a wobbly step towards Benny, who was effectively Adam’s babysitter at this point, and nothing more.  

Ben creased his forehead, but walked over to his mother, mostly to stave off any more yelling across the room.  Lisa put her hand on his shoulder, and pulled him around to face Benny.  Benny sent Dean a panicked glance, but Dean just shrugged.  There were about a million better ways to tell your eight year old kid you had located his biological father, but Lisa and the Winchesters would be damned if they could think of one of them.  And shit, it wasn’t really Dean’s problem, at this point, but his stomach still flipped for the kid.

“Ben, do you like Benny and the drone he got you?”  She petted the back of Ben’s head as he gave her a confused look.

“Uh, yeah.  Thanks.  Sir”  Ben addressed Benny somberly, and listed into his mother’s legs.  Mary’s side conversation with Missouri quieted down, and Ben, Lisa and Benny were suddenly in the spotlight.  The screen door creaked in the kitchen, as even Jess was drawn to the sinking ship that was Christmas Eve.

“Well.  I asked Dean to invite Benny here for a very important reason.”  Lisa continued.

_ Please don’t bring me into this,  _ Dean cringed.

“You see, we were friends a long time ago.  Just about nine years ago, actually.  So we did some talking and some tests at the hospital, and we discovered that Benny is your… dad.”  She gave Ben a hard squeeze of the shoulders, and let a tear fall from her eye.  “Merry Christmas, sweety.”  

Ben stared at Benny, then turned to check with Dean.  All Dean could do was nod and give Ben a tight lipped smile in return.  With Dean’s approval, Ben took a breath and stepped towards Benny.

“So do you-”  the kid blushed.  “Do you even want to be my dad?”  Mary grabbed for her heart, overcome with emotion, and Charlie wound her arms around Cassie as everyone watched like they were simply getting a live reenactment of a cheesy Lifetime movie event.  Jess stepped into the room from the kitchen where she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear Benny’s answer.

“Sure do, little man.  Partly ‘cause it’s my job now, and it’s the right thing to do, an’ partly because even though we just met, I like you whole a lot.”  Benny tipped that damn kangol hat at his new son.  Ben smiled at the compliment and took another step forward, coyly indicating that he’d tolerate a hug if Benny felt so inclined.  Benny opened his arms and they embraced warmly.

Jess looked on with a melancholy smile.  Missouri turned, wiping a tear from her own eye, and bumped Jess with her elbow.  

“I’m sorry, sweetie.  I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Missouri.”  She dabbed a handkerchief to the corner of her eye, but smiled warmly at Jess.

“Oh, hello.  I’m Jess.”  Jess answered automatically.

“I know.  I’ve had to listen to your man berating himself for what he did to you all night.”  Missouri gave Jess the kind of head-tilted smile that’s supposed to make her  _ think. _  Jess flushed red and opened her mouth in shock.

“He’s been  _ telling _ everyone?”  Her voice trilled shilly on “telling” and Dean jumped in to stave off the volcano’s eruption.

“She’s psychic!”  He waved his hands in front of Jess as if he were on the ground, asking a commercial jet to abort its landing.  “She’s a goddamn psychic.  Sammy hasn’t said a word.”  His flailing distracted Jess long enough to confuse her, and summon Kate, who was just absolutely thrilled that the stuffy Dean Winchester was suddenly so interested in her most favorite topics.

“Isn’t she spectacular!”  Kate swooned.  “I felt such a deep connection to Missouri the moment we met.  Almost as if we had been sisters in a past life.  You know?  A long, long time ago in a place where women like us were revered and consulted for our mystical sensitivities.  I’ve always been lead towards healing.”

Jess stared at Dean in a way that said  _ whaaaaat has happened here? _  Dean shrugged.  The verbal answer to that question would just take way too fucking long.  Sam approached, cautiously, and tried to avoid further offending Jess by standing perfectly still until one of them bothered to notice him.  

“Oh Kate!” Mary’s voice rang out over the din of the party, and Dean took a stabilizing breath as he watched his mother dance across the floor and put her arms clingingly onto Kate’s, leaning a little too hard for support.  “Do you mind if we cut your pie now as a sort of an appetizer?  So that everyone can have a little piece?  I’ve heard it’s  _ world famous.” _

Momentarily, Sam, Dean and Jess forgot about their infighting and once again were bound together in uncomfortable solidarity.  It was 6:45 pm and Mary Winchester was sloshed; hence the close talking.  And they had hours more of her shoddily veiled attempts to one-up Kate and insult their dad to look forward to.  Dean glanced around to find Bobby, who was sitting on the couch with a tumbler of whiskey and the glazed-over look he would occasionally get when he was on the heavy painkillers for his knee problems.  Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved, or angry at the man for simply numbing himself to Mary’s behavior.  Dean had to give it to Bobby.  He knew she was never going to change, and just accepted her, the same way he had accepted Dean’s asshole of a father as his best friend.

“Don’t worry about the painkillers, dear.”  Missouri said in a low voice as Mary merrily pushed Kate away towards the desserts.  “He can handle himself.  You boys are his rock.”  She squeezed Dean’s wrist, and he was overcome with a sudden surge of physical sadness, as if it had been swimming through every cell of his body, and the soft touch from Missouri had sucked it together into one roiling mass.

“Three for fucking three.”  Dean muttered as he smoothly flicked some errant moisture from under his eye.  Jess looked puzzled, and Sam tilted his head in confusion.

“Three for...So she’s really psychic and I really don’t know about -”  Sam lowered his voice, but avoided the all-out suspicious nature of a whisper- “about the other...men?”  Sam had the audacity to look forlorn.  Dean rubbed his temples.

“This is so not the time, Sammy.  I mean, what do you want me to say?  Merry fucking Christmas!”

Dean was saved when Mary shoved a gooey glob of cherry pie at him.  It had been plopped unceremoniously on a little white napkin.

“Eat up!”  She called as she doled out poorly plated blobs of suspiciously viscous cherry pie filling, with bits of crust clinging desperately to the edges.  “Mmmmmm.  Wonderful.”  Mary took a bite of her own, convincing no one of her enjoyment.   “How do you do it?”

“Oh well I get the Trader Joe crust and the Trader Joe filling, and a pop and a pour.”  Kate smiled big at the attention, miming her efforts like a commercial actor.  “Easy as pie!”  John forced himself to laugh.  Charlie, Cassie, Benny and Lisa all smiled and laughed politely.  Mary tried not to make a show of the way she was obviously making a show of spitting her pie back into her napkin.

“Well.”  Mary shoved the messy handful into her apron pocket.  “How about some  _ real  _ food?  Everyone grab a plate.  It’s buffet style!”  

The guests stampeded towards the kitchen, which made Mary’s smile gleam.  Dean was relieved she didn’t realize that their sudden need for comfort food had more to do with her ridiculous antics and their spiking stress levels.  

“My, John.  You’re looking at my table like you haven’t eaten in weeks!”  Mary yelled over the three feet between her and her ex-husband.

“Well there’s no denying that you’re a great cook, Mary.”  John smiled at the dinner as he loaded his plate high.  “But we all know I’m not with Kate for the food.”  He balanced his plate and used his free hand to pinch Kate’s ass, which made her blush and giggle loudly, biting her lip and looking at their father through her goopy eye lashes.

“Brain bleach brain bleach brain bleach.”  Dean chanted under his breath.

“Jesus. At this point I’d rather think about you banging a dude.”  Sam muttered, in horror.

“Banging a  _ DUDE? _ ”  Lisa exclaimed from behind Sam.   One thing about these skinny women - they couldn’t hold their damn liquor.

“Who’s that?  There will be no fags at my Christmas!”  John delivered this declaration as if he had just announced that he wasn’t especially a fan of tequila, so it was now outlawed. 

Mary tittered, and Dean couldn’t pin down why.  Maybe she was gleeful that John had outed himself as a backwoods homophobe in front of his progressive girlfriend.  Or maybe she agreed wholeheartedly.  She was always old fashioned.

“John!”  Kate sounded scandalized, but tapped John’s shoulder almost playfully.  

“Um...seriously?”  Charlie’s voice was quiet but firm.

“Oh well you don’t count, Charlie.  You’re not a man.  And Cassie’s only half gay anyway.”  John gave Charlie a shy grin, but mostly kept his eyes on the floor.

“So.”  Jess was turning red in the face, ready to fight a fight that was not hers, because she was that kind of person.  But she managed to contain herself.  She turned to see Ben standing behind her in the buffet line. “Don’t listen to this guy, okay?  You can love whoever you want.”

Ben looked up at Lisa, and Benny towering behind her, with his most confused expression.  Lisa began to sputter, shrinking her shoulders and leaning towards her son.

“That’s true, but we don’t have to talk about this now.”  She almost whispered.  Benny frowned.

“It don’t bother me none, son.  Only thing I have a problem with is throwing hateful words around in polite company.”  Benny glared at John, and Ben grinned at the idea that his new dad was a gentleman badass.  Dean was even happier for the kid.

“Okay, okay!”  Mary waved her hands in the air to regroup.  “None of this matters because no one is gay here.”  

“Except for Charlie! I’m, like, 100% gay.”  Charlie offered with an obviously faked smile and eyes that complained that she was definitely not getting laid tonight.

“I meant gay men.”  Mary corrected.  “No gay men here so it’s all…”  She lost her train of thought.  “Let’s all eat up!”

Missouri looked like she was about to speak up, but Dean narrowed his eyes and beamed his thoughts over to her as loudly as he fucking could.   _ Don’t say a word.  Don’t say a word.  Don’t say a word.  I’ll be fucking fine if you just don’t open your mouth. _  She snapped her mouth shut and Dean thanked God and whoever else that she was actually a fucking psychic.  The next time she spoke was to offer Mary a warm compliment on her collard greens.  The compliment had Mary flushed with happiness for fifteen minutes.

Sam was silent.  He sat down on a couch to eat, and oddly enough, Jess took the spot next to him.  Dean sat at an angle in the armchair nearby and they all tried to focus on their food.  It was like a meditative practice for Dean at this point, blocking out the ignorance and the insecurity and all the bad feelings that everyone had dumped on him so that the food wouldn’t turn to ash in his mouth.  Sam and Jess seemed to be partaking in the same practice, and Dean breathed a little easier knowing that it wasn’t just him sitting alone with a rock in his gut that night.

Slowly but surely the rest of the party thawed out.  Benny had a piece of pecan pie while Ben and Adam flew the drone around the Christmas tree, and into Lisa’s hair, much to Ben’s delight.  Charlie and Cassie pawed at each other gently on the loveseat, no longer caring if they might make someone uncomfortable.  Mary brought a heaping plate over to Bobby, because his knees had been bothering him too much to wait in the buffet line.  Missouri sat by them and regaled them with old tales of Native American warfare that she may or may not have witnessed shadows of, firsthand.  

When his plate was finally empty, Sam breathed in and out, a big sigh.

“Dean, I’m so sorry.”

Dean looked up, pointedly, through his eyelashes as he stabbed at honey glazed carrots.

“You're apologizing to the wrong person. Just drop it, man.”

“I can't. Your Christmas is- this whole thing is just… a giant shit sandwich.” Sam lowered his voice so no one would overhear and think he was commenting on the food. 

Dean looked around and shrugged. 

“It’s our Christmas.  Our family.  It’s life.”

“Yeah but you- you work with Dad.  You eat with mom.  You fix cars for Bobby.  You broke up with your girlfriend, so you're always here. Then you deal with my F-up-” Sam blushed as he censored himself. “You have one ex-girlfriend here with your best friend, and your other ex-girlfriend here with the father of the kid that you kinda thought was yours.”  He ran his hands through his hair, looking overwhelmed.  “Your parents are completely homophobic, and you secretly like guys?”

“Well three can keep a secret... I told you to drop it, Sam.”  Dean stood up, and walked his empty plate to the kitchen, which despite his mother’s best efforts, was a disaster area.  He put his dish in the sink, then propped his hands on the counter, letting his head droop as he slowly took in large mouthfulls of air.  Sam's analysis had made one thing clear. Dean had to get out of there.

………………………………………………………………………...

No one Dean knew had ever been to Richard’s.  Even Charlie hadn’t had her curiosity piqued enough to give Richard’s a shot.  But it was the only bar in his shitty little town that was open on Christmas Eve - other than The Roadhouse, which was throwing their annual Christmas Eve bash.  However, Dean had it on good authority that that was where at least half of the attendees of the Winchester Christmas Eve from Hell were going after Mary was done forcing seconds, thirds, fourths and desserts down their throats and laughing too loudly, and too closely to their faces.  Dean really wasn’t in the mood to run into anyone he knew.  Ever again.  So Richard’s was gonna have to be it for him, tonight.

Dean looked at the bar from his parking spot across the street.  It seemed dark inside, as bars usually do.  There was a blue neon menorah lit up in the window, next to a red XX beer sign.  There was not one other car parked anywhere on the whole street.  The sign above the door featured "Richard's" written out in a fancy script.  Okay, so maybe the rumors were true and it was making a clever joke regarding Dick/dick.  Dean would concede that much.  Fuck it.  There was only one way to find out.

"So, hey.  Is this a gay bar?"  Dean plunked his key holding hand on the counter, his heart beating in his chest with the rush of being... inquisitive?  It had sped up as he entered, which had distracted him from direct observations that one usually makes when you walk into a new building.  He was left with impressions.  Dark wood.  Wood polish.  Old smoke.  Pool tables, or maybe a foosball table, and an electronic dart board. Blue eyes.

Dean blinked at the blue eyes, his conscious mind finally catching up with his physical progress.  The blue eyes blinked back.  They were nested in the head of the bartender, who appeared to be the only employee, and was hard at work fulfilling every hot bartender stereotype that popular culture had ever introduced.  He was tall with dark hair, handsome and scruffy, wearing a baggy blue button-up shirt with the top button undone, a white towel thrown over his shoulder and a short black apron guarding his worn jeans. To top it all off, he was drying out a pint glass.

“I would imagine the “gayness” of a bar would be defined by it’s customers, and you are currently the only one here.  So I’m going to hazard a guess, no.”  It sounded to Dean like he was the only person who’d shown up all month, considering how out of practice the bartender’s voice sounded.  “But I certainly don’t discriminate.”

“Oh. That’s good.”  This answered none of Dean’s questions, but then again, the bartender’s flat tone spoke volumes about his personal feelings on designating drinking establishments by sexuality.  So okay then. 

“What can I get you?”  The bartender prompted.

“Um.”  The leftover anxiety surging through Dean’s bloodstream was forcing his mind to overthink everything.  This guy was alone in a bar with a menorah in the window. It was possible that he didn’t celebrate Christmas at all, but in the off chance that he did, Dean was the only person currently standing in the way of him turning the sign around and getting out of there for the night.  “I’ll have three shots of Old Crow,”  Dean tapped the counter as if he were asking a blackjack dealer for three hits, “and then I’ll get out of your hair.”  

The bartender produced shot glasses and whiskey as if on autopilot, while squinting at Dean quizzically.

“I presume you have a ride?”  He replaced the Old Crow on the back shelf, and Dean plunked $20 down on the counter.

“Baby will get me home just fine.”  Dean toasted with the first shot, then drank it down, followed by the other two.  He shook off the burn a little, somehow not embarrassed to reveal that momentary weakness.  Plus, the bartender was too busy scowling at the Impala keys in Dean’s left hand.

“Let me call you a cab.”  The voice sounded low and sultry, which Dean found to be in direct opposition to the meaning behind the words.

“‘M fine, man.  I’m not gonna pay $40 to get up the hill.  I’ll be home before it even hits me. Seven minutes, tops.”  He took a step back from the counter and fluffed the collar of his jacket.  “Thanks.  Merry- Holidays or whatever.”  Dean walked briskly to the door, too busy concentrating on tracking the path of the alcohol through his system to listen for a reply.  And why would the guy reply?  It wasn’t any of his business.

The alcohol was currently just a source of warmth, which would have been welcome any other December 24th, but it was currently 45 degrees, and the wrongness of it all made it feel more like 60.  Dean pulled on the collar of his tee shirt before unlocking the driver side door.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you refrain from driving.”  The voice was now hard and demanding, which matched the content of the message, but was still somehow alluring to Dean.  Perhaps because he felt the words vibrate on the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck.  He whipped around with a start.  He hadn’t heard the man approach.  He couldn’t hear anything.  His ears were hot, probably burning and tingling as his family discussed his shortcomings over some hot toddies. 

“You insist, huh? So whadya want me to do?”  Dean opened his hands to sarcastically welcome the bartender’s next suggestion.

The bartender’s eyes were drawn to the Impala.

“Well I can understand why a taxi is out of the question.” He moved his hand as if to run along the smooth black paint, but he refrained from making contact. “Although the traffic on this street tomorrow morning should be limited.”

“Not leaving her. And I don't know where your from, but this town can't support a fleet of taxis.  You call, you get Rufus. And he's probably three sheets to the wind at The Roadhouse right now.  They’d just send Jody to save him the hassle.” 

The bartender pulled his focus away from the classic lines of the impala to examine Dean, with far less admiration.

“You’ll have to come back inside and drink some water.”

“What's the rule? One drink per hour? Oh no. No way I'm gonna sit in there for three hours drinking water.” Dean X’ed that idea with both hands.

“Call a friend.” The bartender ordered. Call two friends, so that you can return home with your car.”  He clasped his hands into fists at his sides, though Dean felt that with his bossy attitude, those hands would have been more at home on the guy’s hips.  Slim hips.

“Look, this is gonna sound like some first world bullshit, but I actually came here to pretend I don’t have friends, so I ain’t callin’ nobody.”  Dean gently let his butt lean on the door of his baby, and arched his back a little, crossing his arms over his chest.  He was starting to enjoy feeling like a rebel- a troublemaker instead of a problem solver.  The annoyed bartender’s blue eyes were melting through his overindulgent Christmas Eve dinner (a.k.a Dean’s latest emotional food anchor) with little blue pulses of electricity.  Dean smiled, experimentally.  Even his face was regaining its elasticity.  He reached a hand down towards the handle of his car, his eyes trained on the bartender’s reaction.

“Do not even think about entering that vehicle.”  The bartender growled, but he made no move to reach out and physically stop him.  That was a pity, but the low pitched warning was a mission accomplished, as far as Dean was concerned.  He let a little shiver run up his spine, before realizing that it was currently his turn to speak.

“Dude.  Your eyes are piercing.”  Alright, so despite failing to stop himself from eating a toddler-sized serving of mashed potatoes and gravy, the three shots of Old Crow had fought their way through to their target destination where they apparently kicked his inhibitions square in the balls.

“Was that a… flirtation?”  The bartender sounded so adorably confused.

“Piercing?” Dean snorted.  “That’s a cold, hard fact.”  He crossed his ankles, cockily.  “A flirtation would be telling you that before I came out here, that was a 50% gay bar.”  Dean finger-gunned the door of Richard’s, and the bartender furrowed his brow.

“A bisexual bar?”  He offered, slowly.

Dean nodded his assent, then cleared his throat as he realized what kind of confession he was making, out loud, on a populated, suburban street.

“Closeted.”  He coughed out.  “A heavily closeted, bisexual bar.”  He looked to the side as a cat running under a streetlight caught his attention.  After exhaling away the flutter in his chest, he dared to look back at the bartender, and moistened his lips.

The bartender took a small step backwards, and relaxed his shoulders.  Dean kept focused on those piercing eyes, refusing to let himself interpret the motion, for better or for worse.

“Well, sir, you sound like you could use another drink.”  The bartender smirked, and held Dean’s gaze, easily.

“I definitely could.”  Dean tried a little extra bravado to disguise the crushing truth of that admission.

“Why don’t you come inside?”  The bartender tilted his head towards the door, only letting his eyes wander as far as the edges of Dean’s face.

“I dunno.  I got nowhere to go at closing time.  And I don’t drink and drive.”  Dean tilted his head forward, dampening his accusing glance by sending it through his eyelashes.

“Don’t worry.  We’ll find you a bed.”  The bartender waved his arm towards the second story of Richard’s.

“I’m sure you will.  But ,hey, wait?  How’s Santa gonna find me?”  Dean’s eyes crinkled at the edges. 

The bartender straightened up at the question, then sighed, and walked towards the door, where he knelt down and picked up a previously unnoticed extension cord, and plugged it into the outdoor electric socket.  Suddenly the exterior was alight with two stories tall message that read “Merry Dickmas!” twinkling in all its multi-colored LED glory.  The bartender hung his head for a moment, before turning back to Dean, who was shocked into smiling.  They spent a quiet moment listening to the buzz of electricity through cool circuits.

“Gabriel thought it would be a fitting tribute to the bar’s owner, Richard Roman.  I… found it to be in poor taste.”  The bartender looked unsure of himself for the first time since Dean laid eyes on him.

“Tell me again how this is not a gay bar.”  Dean snarked.

“We weren’t sure exactly how we earned that reputation, but Gabriel decided it would be more profitable to simply run with it.”  

“Gabriel better not be your alternate personality, or something creepy like that.”  Dean flexed off the door of his car, hips first, and clomped towards the brightly lit entrance of the bar that was now functioning as the Las Vegas strip billboard of his coming out.  He tried hard not to mentally map out the likely routes his friends and family might be driving around town at that moment.  At least once he was in, he wouldn’t have to leave.  He pointedly ignored the fact that the Impala would remain stationed out front, reflecting a warped and mirrored “Merry Dickmas” in her slick black paint.  Baby didn't judge. To Hell with everyone else. 

The bartender chuckled, and it was delightful, nearly causing Dean to trip over the low curb.

“Gabriel is very much a separate person.  I am Castiel.” He introduced himself with a small smile as he held the door for Dean.

“Nice to meet you, Cas.  Now get in here and help me drown my sorrows.” Dean called out over his shoulder.


	5. Merry Fucking Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is a theory that can never be proven,” Cas began his story, squinting at the label of the bottle he was preparing to pour, his voice reminiscent of the coming attractions announcer, “that for every decision a person makes, alternate dimensions branch off for all of the alternatives. Infinite worlds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas broke into 2 days. Wanted to end it here, but also didn't want to be that person who leaves you hanging.

Dean and his new friend Cas were slumped elbow to elbow over opposite sides of the butcher block bar. Dean had started off by ordering two beers, which Cas poured with a raised eyebrow until Dean slid one back across to him. Cas only considered for a moment before he accepted the drink and made an implicit commitment to match Dean drink for drink.  

Cas had been handling Dean with kid gloves, and Dean outwardly, begrudgingly allowed it (and was internally delighted).  Sam and Jess, and even Missouri had all managed to let Dean know that his particular situation made them sad.  Well, he was honestly fucked if he cared how he made them feel at this point.  He didn’t want their pity.  Conversely, Cas made Dean feel like spending a Christmas Eve belly-up at the bar was par for the course, and could happen to anyone.  He didn’t pry or ask for details.  He didn’t offer up his own tales of woe in an attempt to generate a tit for tat.  To Dean’s dismay, he didn’t even outrightly flirt, though in all honesty, willingly listening and laughing appropriately as Dean recounted the Empire Strikes Back, scene for scene, could definitely count as flirting by omission.  

Bit by bit, Dean let his story creep out.  It was Cas’s fault.  Dean could be a decent storyteller when he tried, and he enjoyed making the bartender smile.  He played Cas like a pinball machine, easily pinging the lights in Cas’s eyes, but always shooting for the toothy grin jackpot, his brain goofily supplying winning bell clangs when he nailed it.  It started as Dean described the plight of poor Sarah, almost laughing himself to tears as he remembered he’d told his mother she was a Jehovah's Witness. Cas was appropriately flummoxed by her surprise visit, and suitably suspicious of Sam until Dean described Sam’s goodhearted naivety in full.  After that an innocent “who’s Benny?”  managed to unravel the rest of Dean’s Christmas Eve like an old, chunky sweater.   Cas was cautiously happy for Ben and his new dad, delighted that Missouri was actually a psychic, and absolutely baffled as to how a group as dysfunctional as Mary, Bobby, John and Kate would agree to celebrate a holiday together in the first place.  And that was without an explicit description of the night’s anti-gay commentary, which Dean left a conspicuous hole for by simply trailing off.  Despite matching Dean for drinks, or perhaps because of it, Cas always seemed to understand the tone of what was being left out.

“You got a family, Cas?” 

“I do.” Cas raised his head and looked Dean over, questioning but amused.

“Why ya here on Christmas? Merry Christmas by the way.”  Dean toasted the holiday.

“We see each other when we can.  But we never put that much pressure on each other around the holidays.  As we all grew up and branched out, it became clear that in that regard we were oddities.  So my married siblings always cater to their spouses families for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  And the still single Novak's end up working the shifts that nobody wants.”

“You see, now that's beautiful.” Dean gushed. 

“That might be an overstatement.  It's comfortable.”

“I'm an asshole.” Dean lamented. 

“How so?” Cas reached an arm over and jostled Dean’s shoulder to indicate his displeasure at Dean’s self deprecation. 

“I just- geeze I feel like shit even saying it- I just want them to not exist, for like, a month.”

“Your family?” Cas raised his head and squinted. “That doesn't sound like an unusual sentiment.” 

“ _ That doesn't sound like an unusual sentiment.”  _ Dean mimicked. “You need another shot.”

Cas pulled himself up to standing and prepared their next round.

“There is a theory that can never be proven,” Cas began his story, squinting at the label of the bottle he was preparing to pour, his voice reminiscent of the coming attractions announcer, “that for every decision a person makes, alternate dimensions branch off for all of the alternatives.  Infinite worlds.”  He concentrated on pouring the shots, and setting the bottle down gently.

“Yeah?”  Dean sat up and lifted his shot to eye level.  “So what’s the point?”  Cas smiled, involuntarily at Dean’s nihilistic toast.  “Can I trade places with the Dean who told his family to go fuck themselves?”  Dean downed his shot, plunked his glass on the counter and reached over to nudge Cas, prompting him to follow suit. 

“Would you?”  Cas asked with his eyes screwed shut, exhaling through his nose.

“Nah.” Dean’s eyes glazed over as he imagined himself renting out jet-skis in the Mexican Riviera, hitting on bikini-clad jailbait, living on Corona and tacos and adopting a three-legged dog. “That Dean’s a dick.  I’d rather be… rather be… “  Dean’s whiskey-soaked brain produced feelings instead of words.

“- defined by your contribution to the betterment of your family instead of your attempt to escape from it?”  Cas tilted his head.  Again.  Freaking precious.

“Yes.” Dean sounded mildly affronted at the accurate verbalization of his slurring inner monologue. “‘N that Dean ‘d never have come here. Seen Cas.”  

A tall glass of water appeared in front of him as if by magic.  He grabbed for it, capturing it on the first attempt, and held it up in thanks.

“To infinite worlds.” Dean closed his eyes to steady the spinning.  “Eugh, I think I'm ready to find a bed.” He valiantly gulped down the entire glass of water, only losing a little out of the side of his mouth. Cas reached across and swiped Dean’s chin with his bar towel.  Dean just sat watched Cas with a small smile. “I’d have better game, if I hadn't drank so much.”

“Better game? I can’t imagine that's possible.” Cas gave him one of the cringy, wide smiles. 

“Psshh. You're nice. You're being nice to a poor SOB ‘cause it's Christmas.” Dean put his hands on the counter and shook his head suddenly, feeling centrifugal force spin blood to his ears. “Without all this-” he waved at nothing- “shit, I coulda had a chance with a guy like you.”

“A guy like me?” Cas’s confusion came through as a low, flat drone.

“A hot guy. Nice hair. Nice eyes.” 

“But not  _ me? _ ” Cas leaned both hands on the bar, readying himself to gently slap Dean silly for- well for whatever hogwash he was about to drunkenly spew.

“Nope. Never had a chance with you. You're perfect.” Dean let out a contented sigh, and gazed at Cas as if he were a priceless relic inside a glass case. “Wouldn't want you to meet my dad.  Or my mom. Bobby, maybe, if your car was busted.”

“So what about the hot guy like me?” Cas stayed, tense, guiltily pulling confessions out of his very drunk client. “Would he be introduced to your father?”

“Shit, no. If I’m lucky, he’s sneaking out on some chick. One and done, this never happened, thank you, sir. That's my specialty.” Dean wiped his hands together then opened his palms, proudly, as if he'd just made something disappear. 

“You think I couldn't be discreet?” 

“No, Cas.” Dean reached up to rub his face, muffling a groan. “But why would you even want to?” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Cas countered quickly. Dean scowled.

“Your not sneaking around like trash. If anyone asks you to do that, you tell me. I'll set ‘em straight.” Dean’s head began to dip, weighed down with conviction.  Cas watched, fascinated as Dean began to fold in on himself.

“Hmm. And here I thought Santa had brought me an easy lay for Christmas.” Like all good jokes, it was steeped in the truth of Cas’s earlier expectations.

“Well you must have fucked up big time this year, ‘cause Dean Winchester is a lump of fucking coal.” He started to slide off his barstool, his hands refusing to aid in balance or support. “Hey, c’mon catch me. Wanna smell you.”

Cas complied, slipping around the bar to prop Dean up with his shoulder, looping under his arm and gripping his back. 

“There's a furnished apartment across from mine. Let's get to the stairs.”

“Mm. Wanna go to your house.” Dean mumbled into Cas’s shoulder as they shakily rose to their feet, floating free from the comforting support of the bar furniture.

“Change your mind?” Cas asked, hopes slightly increased, though heavily weighted by Dean’s inability to support his own mass. 

“Let me crash on your couch. Promise I won't yak.” Dean smelled boozy, but not putrid, and Cas somehow believed him.

“That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” Cas took a step towards the stairwell door, and was relieved when Dean followed. They made it to the base of the steps, gaining confidence as they bouyed each other.  Luckily, the stairs had a reinforced railing, which Cas pulled them up.  

Dean's brain was whirling with the abrupt change of scenery and atmosphere.  Damp stairs then stale hallway, followed by a burst of cool, clean air, scented lightly with lemon and yeast.

Cas pulled Dean over to the couch, and eased them both down together.  Dean melted into the soft cushion, and laid himself out with a dexterity that he hadn't applied to their journey up the stairs. 

“Bathroom is off the kitchen, behind you.” Cas instructed, hoping the info would seep into Dean’s subconscious, at least.

“Wish you were an asshole, Cas.  Woulda stopped drinking sooner and fucked you silly.” Dean mumbled as he nuzzled the couch pillow.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Dean listened for a moment longer to Cas’s socked feet padding around the apartment, before falling into a deep sleep.


	6. That Hazy Week Before New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I write because it's like a puzzle - a fun problem solving experience.
> 
> But this. This is shameless self indulgence. Best to get it out of my system before writing original fiction I gueeessss...

Dean woke to the feeling of bright sunlight on his face.  Of course.  It was Christmas morning, and outside it looked like the beginning of April.  He took a moment to absorb the second story view of some ugly, beige two-story homes that probably had a snazzy name that was undeserved, because it implied that people actually chose to live in that style of house based on its artistic merit.  He then realized he was on that hot bartender’s couch.  Alone.  And all sorts of nauseated.

“Well, well, well.  Cassie’s taking in strays again, I see.”  A calm, male voice from the kitchen had Dean sitting straight up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, or maybe just being careful to make sure they didn’t drop right out of his hanging head.  There was someone in the kitchen.  It made sense that the sound of the door opening might have roused Dean from his slumber.

“I’ll get out of your hair.”  Dean mumbled, standing up slowly with his fingertips on the armrest, just in case things didn’t go as planned.  “Sorry.  Am I wearing shoes?”  Dean opened his eyes wide enough to check his feet.  “No.  Need shoes.”  He shuffled around the couch and through the archway to the small kitchen, where he wrenched his eyes open enough to see a short, caramel haired man in a soft-looking plaid shirt and some worn jeans.  

“Well hello there.”  The man heralded Dean, cheekily.  “I’m Gabriel.  I bring you good tidings of great joy.  Now are you Mary or Joseph?”  Gabriel seemed to be enjoying himself, leaning both hands on Cas’s compact kitchen table, and giving Dean no way to escape a thorough examination.

“Gabriel, huh?  Oh right.  Merry Dickmas.”  Dean gritted out, attempting to sound like there was a congenial human buried somewhere deep below the hangover.  He located his shoes, and groped wildly for the door handle with one hand as he jerkily slid into them.

“Ooo so you’re a wise man. Nice.  Well you must have gotten Cassie pretty drunk to get him to plug the sign in.”  Gabriel gushed.  Dean was fully shoed, leaning on the doorknob, letting a small piece of his brain wonder if he’d worn a jacket the night before, while the larger piece raced backwards to set Gabriel straight about… something.  Oh right.

“Plugged in the sign sober.”   Dean had been staring at his shoes, and the floor was a comforting place to look, but he raised his head up and squinted the eye facing Gabriel, just long enough to realize his jacket was draped over the back of the closest kitchen chair.  Success.  He reached out slowly, as if he were perfecting the newest yoga pose- hungover and imbalanced coat grab.  He felt his breath around the nostrils, which would be cool if he didn’t also taste whiskey-soaked, burnt fried chicken skin.  The coat was finally grabbed. He took a deep breath and turned the doorknob, exiting back into the stale hallway and down the dank stairs.  The air outside wasn’t frigid and dry like he hoped.  Instead it was cool and damp and gave him a chill without actually bringing down his body temperature.  

Once inside the Impala, he wasn’t sure he if should drive.  He hazarded a glance at the second story windows, trying to guess which one belonged to Cas, and what he would say about Dean’s current state.  He wasn’t exactly inebriated.  At this point he was impaired by what was missing more than any added element.  But fuck it.  It was 9:00 AM, Christmas morning.  The angels would get him home, and no one would be the wiser.

…………………………………………………………………………

The creaking of the narrow staircase that led up to Dean’s quarters belied his mammoth of a brother before Sam actually spoke. Dean groaned.

“Dean it's two.”  Sam’s voice came quietly, but sternly through the door.  “You gotta start getting ready for Christmas dinner.  Merry Christmas.”

“I don’t wanna.”  Dean spoke more into his pillow than to Sam, but his complaint was still audible.  What followed sounded like the hissing of a whole den of snakes, and Dean could only assume that Sam was whisper-shouting something to Jess, who was perhaps at the bottom of the stairs. Dean crept out of bed and into some pants and a black tee shirt.  The back and forth whispers became predictable, and almost soothing, until they died down to silence.  Dean picked at various flannel shirts, gauging their scents on a scale of diesel fuel to patchouli. 

“Yeah we don’t have any right to ask you, but it would make things a lot easier on everyone if you just came to dinner.”

Dean pulled the door open with a staged smile, and Sam jumped back with a start, having to grab for the railing to keep from tumbling over backwards.

“Who said anything about not coming to dinner?  C’mon!  My own brother knows me better than that.  It’s Christmas dinner!”  Dean backhanded Sam on the stomach, then pushed by him down the stairs where Jess stood, hands clapped together and bouncing for joy.

Dean paused at the bottom of the stairs and pointedly watched as Sam came down the stairs and stood next to his girlfriend. Jess understood Dean’s examination, shrugging her shoulders, then smiling.

“So, you guys bury the hatchet? Dean voiced.

“I would say yes, but I don't want to offend any roving Native American spirits.” Jess looked around, comically.

“Don't worry. Kate has them all in a pow wow at dad’s place, learning about their chakras or their doshas or whatever.” Dean blushed a little, even though the meaning of his new age terms was hazy, and he only used them in jest, the fact that they were now imprinted in his vocabulary was a little sad.

“Well it's Christmas with the Winchesters. It's never been easy.” Sam put his hands on Jess’s shoulders and rubbed gently.

“Easy?” Dean scoffed. “It's like a fucking right of passage.”

“You just ran the gauntlet.” Sam turned his massage into a stiff pat, then pulled away to start them walking down the hill towards Mary and Bobby’s.  

Christmas dinner was to be a quiet, one-family affair with Mary and her children, followed by Christmas drinks and desserts with John, Kate and Adam.  Both gatherings were unnecessary and redundant, but blessedly separated. 

“So what'd you get me for Christmas, jerk?” Sam asked as Dean fell into step next to his brother.

“A new stereo for your Toyota.” Dean answered simply.

“What?  That’s amazing!  Way to ruin the surprise!” Sam punched Dean lightly on the shoulder.

“It's Christmas. You're surprised. Nothing ruined. What'd you get me, princess?”

“Something awesome, but I think I'm going to save it for next year and just vow not to mention where I saw a certain Chevy Impala parked last night. All night.”  Sam smirked and used his long stride to pull ahead of Dean, suddenly.  

Dean growled and grabbed for Sam’s arm, which Sam twisted away from, laughing. Both men had left Jess in the dust minutes before, and she looked on over their antics with a smile as she took herself for a leisurely stroll.  The brothers were closer than they let on.  Maybe closer than they even realized.

“It's not even a gay bar.” Dean's voice fell away on the word “gay”. “And there was no one there.” He lunged for Sam’s forearm, pulling the taller man’s hand out of his hoodie pocket and yanking up the sleeve.

“No!” Sam pleaded. “You know I hate-” Sam cut himself off and looked around the sunny driveway, furtively- “Indian burns.”

“You're not supposed to like Indian burns.” Dean countered, grasping at Sam’s forearm with both hands.

“I think you mean Native American burns.” Jess said matter-of-factly as she finally overtook them.  “And leave Dean alone.” She breezed by them, and Dean only bothered to give Sam’s captured arm a small, squeezing twist before releasing it.  Sam rubbed the spot with a pouty face.

“Though,” Jess turned to face them, walking backwards, “if there was a hot guy I totally want to hear about it.”

“Jess!” Sam sounded as though Jess had just joined in on his physical assault.  Dean swallowed hard and licked his teeth.

“What? I'm going to objectify the shit out of your brother, and I don't care who knows it. I mean, we all remember the Smurfs comment, right?”

Dean and Sam both gave Jess their own signature you’ve-got-me-there eyebrows.  She flounced onto the porch and into the house, triumphantly.

“Uh. So.” Sam started as Dean moved to follow Jess, believing (hoping) the issue was closed. “Did you meet anyone?”

“What does it matter?” Dean answered with a defensive edge. Too late he realized it wasn't a denial, and was therefore a really shitty answer.

“Oh wow. Well. You know. You can bring someone around. You can have friends. Maybe our family can handle stuff if you just go slow.”

“Our family can't handle store bought pie.” Dean reasoned in a flat tone.  Sam dipped his head in assent and looked around for support.  The couple of lifeless trees and ensuing fields of frosty mud were of little help.

“Well, think about it.” It was weak, but Dean knew he was trying- struggling to balance optimism with realism, and offer Dean a hope that wasn't that far fetched.  “Merry Christmas, Dean. I got you an XBox game. Jess got you Batman socks and boxers.” 

“You bitch.” Dean sighed. Sam smirked, and went inside.

…………………………………………………………………………

Christmas dinner was like a hundred other dinners Dean had shared with Mary, Bobby, and Sam- with the added bonus of Jess.  Christmas drinks were a bit stilted and weird, but refreshingly free of random bouts of gay bashing or racism of any kind.  Kate was good for John in that way, Dean supposed.  And the old man fetched his own beverages and brought his own dishes to the sink now.  He was either getting a little more progressive, or just much more desperate to get laid, in his old age.

Jess packed her things and drove off the morning after Christmas so that she could work four grueling overnight shifts back-to-back.  

“I’ll text you.”  Sam promised, earnestly as he watched her throw her duffel bag into the back seat of her Chevy sedan. 

“Uh, yeah you will. We all know how much you love to text.”  Jess snapped, before giving him a quick peck and a darling smile.  Dean stood up the driveway a little and gave her a wave.  It seemed like they had recovered from Sam’s strange bout of… over kindness?  Whatever it was, they were stronger than it.  So that was a relief.

His phone vibrated in his pocket with a message from John to get over to the rye field if he wanted to see more deer in one place than ever before on Winchester’s farm.  

Dean headed out to the rye field and snapped a photo of what at final count was 57 dingy looking deer.  He met up with John, who surveyed his land with hands on his hips, wearing an old grey hooded sweatshirt even though his breath showed in short puffs.

“There is nothing more rewarding than owning land.”  John announced to his son.  “Your things can lose value, but your land can’t.  It’s one thing they can’t make more of.  You need the land to make food. Someday the world’s gonna run out of land and they’re gonna run out of food.  Then you’ll have to protect what’s yours.”

Dean tried to picture it, as he looked off in the same direction as his dad.  He tried to envision an apocalypse- a landless panic overtaking the townspeople who could each only lay claim to maybe three quarters of an acre of solid ground that they had to petition the Town to even dig into.  He imagined them mounting the hill in order to get to Winchesters and demand a share of something John Winchester had rights to on a flimsy map, and within the annals of the town archive..

For some reason his mind flashed to Cas.  Cas and his brother Gabriel, with a family so laid back that they simply settled for a phone call on Christmas Eve.  Cas who worked at a bar owned by “the man”, and lived in the same building.  Did Cas have any land to speak of?  It was unlikely.  Dean knew that as a Winchester he was supposed to feel bad for Cas.  He was supposed to feel bad that there are people out there that don’t understand the benefits of manual labor and private property, instead raising their children to “follow their dreams” and travel the world like nomads, racking up lifetime's worth of debts that will never be beaten back with the earnings of a misguided communications degree.  He was supposed to feel pity, but that pity was doused with an ice-cold 50 gallon bucket of desire when Dean remembered the magical calm of his night at Richard’s so vividly that he could almost taste damp oak in the air.

“We’re going to Ellen’s for drinks on New Year’s”  John snapped Dean out of his reverie with well-known information.  “You didn’t bother, Christmas Eve.  You gonna make it to New Year’s?”  John disguised his sentiments with a sarcastic lilt, and this time Dean was distracted, and therefore none the wiser.

“Yeah I’ll be there.”  Dean’s mouth announced to his brain.  “Actually, I’m gonna go.”  He started picking his way down the hill towards the trampled farm road that was clear of snow, but frozen enough to support the Impala.

“Where you headed?”  John asked with a tone that spoke of to his constant irritation that anyone did anything other than stand around and wait for him to tell them what to do.

“I gotta go invite someone to New Year’s.  Forgot to get his number.”  Dean clipped his sentences down as far as he could, and hopped in his car, secretly hoping the flock of grazing deer were spooked by the slam of his door and the rumble of his engine.

………………………………………………………………………...

Dean strode into Richard’s bar, quickly and with purpose, once again foregoing the stage where you view and interpret your surroundings with your conscious mind.  But he had an inkling that in the daylight Richard’s was warm and woodsy, with a tang of citrus cleaner.  It was probably the kind of place you could sit and watch dust particles drift through the late afternoon sun beams.

Gabriel was behind the counter, and once again the bar was empty of patrons. 

“Hey, man.”  Yes, Dean remembered Gabriel’s name, but they weren’t exactly friends.  “Is Cas here?”

“Nope, sorry.  Just lil’ old me.”  Gabriel answered with a friendly lilt.

“Right.”  Dean pulled a coaster over and started gesturing for a pen.  Gabriel complied before the non-service-industry side of his brain could protest.  “I’m gonna leave him my number and…”  Dean scrawled a message around the colorful logo of some beer brand with a shark on the label.  “if he can’t read my writing, I’m asking if he wants to go to the Roadhouse for New Year’s Eve.  I’m Dean.”

“Seriously, Dean?”  Gabriel looked affronted as he leaned closer to eye Dean’s chicken-scratch. “You’re asking him to go to a different bar on New Year’s Eve?  We’re sorta gonna need all the help we can get here.”  Gabriel opened his arms wide to indicate his empty bar.

“Uh,”  Dean lost a little steam when he realized all his automatic retorts were were a little too mean to sling at a virtual stranger, no matter how easygoing he seemed.  “Just give him the note.  Please.”  Dean looked at the bar, and Gabriel smiled at his embarrassment.

“Alright, Deano.  I’ll see what I can do.”

…………………………………………………………………………

The end of the year had a way of sneaking up on Dean.  Between his father’s unpredictable and sporadic work schedule, and the couple of books he thought he’d indulge himself with, it was suddenly New Year’s Eve morning and he was only on chapter four and had managed to squeeze in maybe one nap the whole week.

Jess had returned for the festivities, and Sam was glowing as he took her aside to whisper about Dean’s special invitation.  Jess squealed.  Dean rolled his eyes and called them a couple of little girls, regretting ever mentioning it to Sam in the first place.  He wouldn’t have brought it up at all if he wasn’t worried that at some point he’d need some kind of supervisor to keep him in line, and explaining the situation to Sam, half-drunk, mid-new year’s celebration would have been disastrous.

At 7:00pm Jess showed up at the top of Dean’s stairs with a 40oz malt beverage and goofy grin. 

“What is this? Dean eyed her suspiciously.

“You need to get loosened up for tonight.” Jess stated.  Sam gave Dean an apologetic look over Jess’s head. “Because I really want to see you mack it to a cute guy.” Dean began to develop a blotchy flush around his neckline.

“Uh. I'm not sure I'm ready for worlds to collide, here.”  He gulped. “He's probably not going to show up.”  Dean tried to say it with nonchalance. “And if he does, macking is off the table.”

“You're not worried about dad being all -”  Sam paused to consider- “uh, dropping f-bombs?  Making things...unfriendly?”

“Nah.  As long as no one gets him going on hunting or politics.  That’s when he usually gets mad at disadvantaged minorities for no reason.”  Dean rubbed his temple for a moment, trying to erase the memories of his father’s past cases of misplaced anger.  “And who knows, maybe Kate has him on a tight leash.”

“I hope so.”  Sam worried.  Jess took a long guzzle of the 40 oz. and passed it to Dean, who did the same, finally handing a ⅔ full bottle to Sam.

“Hey, I’m a cool dude.  Cas is a cool dude.  As long as I don’t lose my mind and try to make out with him at the bar, we’re golden.  And that’s  _ if _ he even shows up.”

………………………………………………………………….

“Okay, I’m straight fucked.”  Dean hissed at Jess in a very inconspicuous whisper.  The Roadhouse party was in full swing, and Cas was there.  He was dressed in worn jeans and a blue button up yet again, but these jeans were artfully worn and this blue button-up was darker and fitted and bounced the light off of his tan skin with such amazing precision that from certain angles he appeared to be wearing eyeliner.  “I thought I’d be totally safe ‘cause there’s no boobs for me get caught checking out - but I’m just staring into his fucking eyes and I gotta stop drinking right the fuck now or I’m gonna start trying to smell him.”  Dean looked longingly across the room where he had left Sam to have a polite chat with his “new friend” Cas.

At that precise moment, Ash the Roadhouse relief bartender plunked two shots of house whiskey down in front of Jess.  Dean reached over and took them both.

“Dean!”  She hissed, while knocking her fist on the bar to try and signal any of the frazzled staff that she needed more, on the double.  “Hey, I saw you guys talking to your dad before.  What’d he say?”  Dean winced at the aftershock of two shots, and his traitorous ability to drunkenly recall anything.

“He wanted to know who Cas was and I told him he was new in the area, which could be a total fucking lie.  I got no idea.  Because- you know- eye sex.  Then he told Cas that we have a great town and a nice lookin’ guy like him will be up to his ass in hot dates as long as he’s not afraid of single moms.”

“Ooo.”  Jess flexed her neck.  “What’d Cas do?”

“Fuck if I know.  But you know what I do know? Guy’s got a freckle on upper right hand quadrant of his right iris.  No left.  My …”  Dean touched his finger to his left eyebrow then moved it away from his head, squinting.  “Left.  His right,”

“Shit, Dean.  What happened to you?”  Two more shots appeared in front of Jess, and this time she grabbed one of them and gulped it down before Dean could intercept it.

“I don’t know.  You know what?  I do know.  I used up every goddamn ounce of willpower on all this Winchester Christmas bullshit with my mom and Kate and Sa- stuff.  It’s gone.  I got nothing.  I’m a loose canon right now.  I’m freeballin’ it, and I got the whole goddamned town here to watch.”  Jess looked around, and seemed to regretfully agree with Dean’s assessment.  She let him finish downing the fourth shot, then grabbed his bicep.

“Look.  Go tell Sam I need him over here, then tell Cas what you told me, and ask him if he wants to go… watch the ball drop somewhere else.”  She monkeyed her eyebrows up and down at the mention of the ‘ball.”  Dean sputtered a laugh, but it died out quickly.

“Don’t want him to think I’m sneaking around.”   

“Dean, Sam and I got to know each other  _ alone _ .  Unchaperoned.  We didn't have to yell. That’s how the big kids do it.  Even if it were a girl, it’s not that weird you don’t want to bust a move in front of your parents.  I get weird about Sam touching me in front of your mom.  She glares and then she tries to feed me the most buttery thing in the room. And she knows I'm not supposed to have milk!” 

Dean pulled his head back to give Jess a serious squint.  His mom was seriously that much of a creep? Not cool.

“You're not sneaking around. You're getting to know a person that you just met.”

Dean cocked his head to the side for a second, then ruffled Jess’s hair. 

“Fuckin’ genius little sister.”

“Yeah, okay.” She agreed. “Now go get me my boyfriend.” She turned back to the bar and grabbed Ash again, this time discussing a mixed drink with him.   Dean swallowed hard as he started towards Cas, easily catching the man’s eye and earning himself a quick smile from across the room. 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas looked distantly amused, as if he had resigned himself to the idea that no one else was going to get whatever observation was currently tickling his funny bone.

“Hey, Cas.  Sam, you’re being summoned.”  Dean patted his brother’s shoulder, then gave him a wink that Jess could have seen from her seat at the bar.  

“Oh.  Okay, well it was nice talking to you, Cas.  I’ll make sure to look up the name of that author for next time I see you.  Or I’ll send it through Dean.”  Dean tilted his head down at an odd angle in deference of Sam’s exit.  “Well, duty calls.”  Sam finished, and stepped towards Jess with a final wave.

“So.”  Dean turned from watching Sam walk away, and was captured in the tractor beam of Cas’s gaze.  He swayed very slightly, led by his hips.

“So.”  Cas countered, seemingly unaware that he was successfully defending his ‘World’s Most Starey’ championship title that very moment.

“Cas, right?  Cas-trel or- right- You hunt, Cas?”  John Winchester’s voice froze Dean’s hips in their forward motion and sent  them retreating back under his ribs.  His father was also swaying a little, though John’s fulcrum was not so near his groin.

“I do not.” Cas admitted.  Dean wasn’t sure if he imagined it, or their was an air of apology behind his words.

“Well that’s probably better.”  Kate joined in.  “I make John pray over all the animals he kills now.  We have to show our gratitude for their sacrifice.”

“Oh.” Cas glanced at Dean, then directed his attention to without a hint of mockery Kate.  “I appreciate that you use the animals that you hunt.”

“Harumph.” John grunted, apparently shy at being outed as a hippy. 

“Circle of life.” Cas filled the silence with very somber nonsense. 

“Aku namitada.” Dean added. “Or something.” 

“You boys are adorable.” Kate piped up. “Let's leave them be, Johnny.” She snaked her arm around John's and pulled him towards the opposite corner of the room, despite his confused sputtering.

“We’re not that old. I can talk to my own son without causing problems.” He griped. Cas’s jaw flexed with contained mirth.

“You dopey dope. I'll explain over there.” Kate sang out, gaily. Dean winced. She had claimed to be more of an ‘herbalist’ than a drinker when she first arrived, but living with John had apparently changed that. And now, thanks to John’s borderline alcoholism and three of Jo’s finest gin and tonics, she was going to try to explain (her assumption of) Dean’s sexuality to John in the middle of the Roadhouse.  Dean gulped, and let his eyes search the room.  His mom was hanging over Bobby’s arm like a rag doll, but talking a mile a minute to Jody. Sam and Jess were smushed together at the bar, ready with two thumbs up when Dean made eye contact.  Jess then added an extremely amateur wink that seemed to take all of her upper body strength to execute.  She pointed at it for good measure, then mimed some kind of hip-swinging dance motion with her arms in the air.

“In my professional opinion, she is drunk.” Cas’s voice shot over the Roadhouse haze like heat lightning, and left Dean feeling like he had to look up to find his eyes, though the man was actually an inch or two shorter than he. 

“Yeah. She is that. You want to get out of here?” Dean paused his mental  _ what are the  implications? _ tango in the midst of a low dip and truly studied Cas. Cas who cared for him on Christmas Eve. Cas who simply texted that he'd see Dean at the Roadhouse on New Year’s when he found Dean’s half-assed invitation. Cas who showed up dressed sharp and on time and somehow managed to act as Dean’s guest for the evening without assuming or communicating anything romantic, but looking 100% content to be introduced as Dean’s new friend. Cas who his mom now loved for his encyclopedic knowledge of sourdough starters, Bobby now loved for his interest in Latin and John seemed to begrudgingly respect for his ability to have all those fancy liberal opinions without being batshit, preachy, or condescending.

Oh right, back to actually studying Cas for a reaction. Castiel tilted his head to the side a little to consider the question. He held Dean’s gaze, but it wasn't searching. The man was apparently just a human security camera, banking footage to review later if he discovered anything missing.

“Neither you or I are in a state to drive, and you summed up the taxi situation quite succinctly at our last meeting.” He smiled fondly, and Dean hoped it was at the memory of Dean being a witty little devil.

“We'll go for a walk.” Dean swung his head toward the coatroom, confident Cas would follow. “It's like 55.”

“Alright.”

Dean was relieved their exit was lost in the hubbub of the party. The exhausted drama queen that lived in his head had been so sure that a record would scratch, loudly as he pushed through the door with Cas a little too close on his heels.  Luckily his inner shy kid was able to beat the prom queen down with the a lecture about no matter how hot Dean knew he was, life on earth was actually not all about him. 

In the dark of the parking lot it felt like Cas could see his shoulder angels fighting.  Kudos to Cas for not running away screaming. Also, fuck him. What was the big idea, looking at Dean like he'd be willing to swallow him whole or drive him to the airport on a Saturday morning? Where was this guy’s self preservation? He should have been mustering it.  It needed to be mustered.

“How’d you get here?” Dean grunted.

“I got a ride with Meg Masters.”

Dean meandered towards the sidewalk. Cas followed, falling into step beside him. 

“You drove?” Cas caught sight of the Impala and turned a slightly accusing glare at Dean. This dude was seriously against drunk driving. 

“Roadhouse is a safe place for baby. I can sleep it off in the backseat.  Beats the bench in the coatroom.  I know that from experience.” He smiled at the the memory of only a couple years back, when he and Sam would hit the town like a wrecking crew.

They continued walking, away from the Roadhouse, and the flickering lights of the parking lot, towards a residential area with a hundred feet between each streetlamp.  The air was cool and damp, and the town smelled a little bit like wet dog.  That was the price they were forced to pay for an above-freezing December 31.

“Am I wrong to believe that your father’s date was going to suggest that I was interested in you, romantically?” Cas seemed regretful about breaking the silence.

“Uh. No. Wait, you are?”  Dean made his face a picture of skepticism.  Cas frowned.

“My question first. I was under the impression that any sort of coming-out would cause a problem with your father.”  Cas’s concern radiated warm over a cool tang of wet asphalt.

“Yeah.” Dean’s hands were buried in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, which despite his best efforts, smelled a little like patchouli. “I thought so. Now I don't know.”  He waved his coat open, then shut. “I kinda just figured out that they live for this family drama bullshit. I've been a hassle since I can remember- sleeping through school, GED, out late, crashing cars, girls, drinking, a couple of fights. I thought I'd grow out up, get it together, and things would… settle.”

“But?” Cas anticipated with a smirk.

“Turns out I was just doing them a favor. Giving them shit to talk about. If I dragged you in there right now and planted one on you, it'd be like fucking Christmas.”  He pointed one pocketed hand towards the Roadhouse, then let it drop back to his side and shook his head.

“Well, not like  _ my _ Christmas.” Cas pouted, gently.

“Gossipy Winchester shit show Christmas.” Dean bumped Cas with his shoulder.

“So you're not going to give them the satisfaction?” Cas surmised, with a hint of disappointment.

“Hah.” Dean was amused at the notion that he was physically able to deny his family anything. “I’m saying I can’t win.  Or it’s win win.  However you want to look at it.”  He shivered as he noticed the breeze ruffling Cas’s hair.  “Hey so, you wanna go make out in my car?  It's not sneaking around, I swear. I'm just not a huge exhibitionist.” Dean brought out Sam’s puppy eyes, which Cas found both adorable and perplexing.

“Where did you get this idea that I would be opposed to sneaking around?” Cas asked with a bemused smile, which slipped away when Dean refused to look anywhere but the ground.

“Uh. I-” Dean struggled to form words. “It's… “ How could he explain it? He frowned and stared at the ground. “I dunno.  You should be.” 

“I should be what?  Dean’s balance shifted, swaying him from left to right as they walked, and he was beginning to be jealous of Cas’s purposed gait, without a waver.  He almost wished the guy would bite at a fingernail or scratch at his nose or something to indicate he was affected by Dean’s presence and proximity.

“Opposed. I mean, I know we all go through different degrees of shit when we figure out we're not exactly normal.  Gay, bi, whatever- it ain’t easy.  So what right do I have to fuck over someone who's already going through it?  I’d rather be the payout.  Not just another dick telling you to clean up your act.”  

Cas stopped in his tracks, and stared at Dean.  Again.  Dean stopped a step ahead, to be polite.

“I’m ready to visit the back seat of your car now.”  Cas practically growled.

………………………………………………………………….

Cas was the highlight of the few men that Dean had bothered to make out with.  He was straightforward.  He didn’t push, he  _ pressed _ \- as if he were some kind of prostituting Thai masseuse prodigy.  Dean himself had primarily enjoyed his brief history of homosexual encounters because they allowed him more leeway to grip and squeeze.  Cas welcomed his pressuring digits, without writhing in exaggerated, sensual bliss.  So Dean squeezed and Cas pressed.  Their accompanying gasps were mutually inhaled, pushing the corners of their mouths up into grins that they quickly kissed away.  

Cas pressed a hand up under Dean’s shirt.

Dean ran a hand up around the left side of Cas’s neck, curling him closer, to suck lightly on his throat. 

Cas slid his supporting hand up Dean’s leg, leaning into the crease where Dean’s thigh met his pelvis, sighing into Dean’s ear.

Dean’s eye caught sight of someone’s phone lying in the footwell, advertising the time as 12:16am. 

“Happy New Year, Cas.”  He murmured, holding Cas’s face in both hands, then bringing him in for a slow peck that he quickly angled into more.

“Happy new Year, Dean.”  Cas replied in a breath, before his eyes opened wide.  “Will you have been missed?  Will this be a problem?”  His eyes flicked up from Dean’s lips and gave Dean a sobering stare.

“Relax, Cas.”  Dean flicked his earlobe with his thumb, watching Cas’s lips glisten as they quivered in a ray of streetlight. “There’s always a problem.”  Castiel frowned, and began to slide his hand free from under Dean’s shirt.  “It’s good, man.”  Dean reached down to gently grip Cas’s wrist, halting its escape. “You’re good.  You can be my payout.”

“I would like that.”  Cas answered in earnest.

…………………………………………………………………………………

**New Year’s Day**

Kate had told John that Dean and Cas were making eyes at each other, but he staunchly refused to believe it.  Mary loudly supported John in his denial, until Bobby piped up to ask if they were all fucking blind, and lament the day that he had to side with Kate in something so ridiculous.  Mary shut down after that, and broodingly roasted one of her biggest chickens like it was a turkey, complete with stuffing and all the other trimmings.  John tried to laugh in Bobby’s face, but that was a hard thing to do, and Bobby could tell he was getting nervous about the whole thing.

By dinner time Mary had drunk herself back into a state of denial, and loudly brought up Kate’s “ridiculous theory” to Sam and Jess.  Jess was hungover enough to smack herself in the forehead without worrying about making Mary feel bad.  Sam stood up with fury in his eyes and announced that Dean’s sexuality was his own business, adding that if the family was so determined to make Dean feel uncomfortable he would simply invite his brother to celebrate holidays with Sam and Jess in California.  Mary nearly swooned at the threat, and Bobby had to talk Sam back into his seat by expressing his acceptance and support of Dean no matter who he decided to “cavort” with (and Sam and Dean were idjits for thinking he’d say otherwise).

Mary called John under the guise of passing on the message that Rufus Turner was interested in buying half a cow, and made sure to tell him everything Sam said at dinner, though she spun it to seem like Dean was already planning to give up on family gatherings now that his secret was out.  That didn’t sit well with John, seeing that “connecting to and repairing the relationships with your boys” was one of Kate’s main missions for him.  No one had told Dean to go anywhere.  What the fuck was boy thinking?  John hung up on Mary and dialed Dean.

When Dean answered John launched into a little tirade about family and the farm.  Dean listened, confused, as his father griped about not knowing Dean was “a little gay”.  Apparently John wouldn’t have made some of his past comments if he’d known, and it wasn’t nice of Dean to hide it and leave him feeling like an asshole.  Furthermore, it wasn’t right for Dean to assume that John was a homophobe, because it turned out that Adam was asexual or something like that, and he treated Adam just fine and didn’t make a big thing out of it, because it was Adam’s business.  Lastly, he told Dean that it was imperative that the holidays be spent on the farm, and that he could bring Cas along because he was “just as much a man’s man as anyone else.”

“Oh yeah, he’s a man’s man alright.”  Dean winked at Cas across Cas’s kitchen table. 

“ _ Christ.  Just call your mother and explain to her that you haven’t gone and cancelled Christmas or something idiotic like that.”   _ John hung up with a grumpy growl, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he tried.

Dean called his mom, and she insisted that she was the one who pointed out to Kate how well he and Cas seemed to be getting along. 

Dean made it into Cas’s bedroom that night, not exactly curled up around the man, but he did snake a hand down to find his fingers as he was drifting off to sleep, after making an almost incoherent case for why Cas needed to come to Sunday dinner the next day and watch his family implode like a - well something that bounces back after an explosion.

  
Cas fell asleep with a soft expression, and had dreams about pulling Dean out of many things, like a giant top hat, and also an uncomfortable situation. 


End file.
